Death, Thy Name Is Waitress
by Pippin Longstocking
Summary: Women are difficult as a rule of nature, but why must some be exceptionally brilliant at it? Now completely revised.
1. In Which Murphy is Humped By A Dog

_I feel so peculiar _

_I don't know what to say_

_But don't let me fool you_

_I'm not one bit afraid, no way_

_One things for sure_

_What I would give to simply open my door_

_And see your smiling face_

**~Hello, by Sugarbomb~**

When one has a bullet buried in their thigh, walking is a rather difficult activity to accomplish. This was something Murphy MacManus learned in about twelve milliseconds. Though he had been through some rather painful experiences in his twenty-seven years of existence, there was nothing quite like the feeling of lead ripping through your flesh and sinew. But with Connor's arm pinned to his back, looping around his side so he could be some semblance of support, Murphy found it just a bit easier to hobble along. For the most part.

"Ye're a fuckin' eejit, Murph. Just te keep ye updated." Connor pointed out in a low voice, dragging his limping brother through the threshold of the tiniest clinic they could find. In any other situation, he would've just gone ahead and pressed a hot iron down on his brother's leg to cauterize the wound. As it was, there was no way he could have dug the damn thing out without doing a significant amount of damage. But even a clinic doctor would be able to pull it off relatively quick and easy, leaving the boys with no other option. After all, the last thing they needed was more attention from the media.

As the two approached the front desk, Connor unexpectedly released Murphy, making his hand smack against the window to catch himself and successfully startle the matronly woman behind it. Shooting a dirty look at him, he grumbled various obscenities in Gaelic as Connor greeted the wide-eyed woman with a smile.

"Me fuckwit bro'der got 'imself shot in the leg." He reported casually, as though he were merely commenting on something as trivial as the weather. Surprisingly, the woman didn't look very, well, surprised. Then again, this was South Boston; gun shot wounds were old news, and this place probably didn't even bother to report them. Oddly enough, there were but two other people in the waiting room; both women, one obviously blind judging by her blank staring and the chocolate lab that sat beside her, the other a young girl with bulky circumaural headphones strapped to her head.

"Got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, honey?" She inquired sweetly, leaning over to regard Murphy with a sympathetic gaze.

"Aye, ma'm." He lied through his teeth, resisting the urge to both laugh and cry. Yeah, wrong place, wrong time. If you counted staking out a murderer that managed to fly under the radar thanks to a few favors and shoulder rubbing the wrong place and time.

"You sure this is the place you want to go to? A hospital would be able to see to you much quicker. We're more a sickness clinic." She suggested, lifting the papers to provide an example.

"Nah, we don' want any questions. We jus' want the damn t'ing outta his leg so we can go home. Besides, this'll teach 'im a t'ing or two 'bout walkin' in'te the cross'airs when guns are obviously goin' off, eh Murph?" With a smirk, Connor clapped a hand against his brother's shoulder.

"Ah, shaddap, Connor." Murphy grumbled, glancing away. That, unfortunately, wasn't too far from the truth. Once more, the woman offered him a kindly smile. It made him feel strangely better.

"Well, alright. If you're sure." She said slowly, shrugging as she pushed the papers forward. With a nod, Connor took them up, along with a clipboard and pencil, his free arm snaking back around Murphy's waist to haul him to one of the many open seats in the little room. Dropping him down into one, he took his sweet time lowering himself into his own and leaned back comfortably. At his right, Murphy clutched his leg and pressed the already soiled cloth against the wound, wincing.

"Don' be such a g'arl. S'yer fault anyway." Connor murmured distractedly as he began leafing through the paperwork.

"Well it fuckin' hurts!" Murphy hissed back.

"T'ink of somet'in' else then." His sibling said dismissively before pausing a moment. "Also, what's yer social?"

"Ye know me fuckin' social." Murphy growled.

"Oh, yeah." Connor muttered, scribbling it down.

With an exasperated sigh, Murphy decided to take his twin's advice. His deep blue eyes roving over the plain room, he tried to think of anything else. Focusing on the blind woman that sat on the other side of the room, the details of her aged, blank face took his mind of his leg. But it seemed her lab was the one that sought attention, for it started forward, crossing the room with a loping stride to approach. Standing before him, staring with mournful brown eyes, Murphy could only stare back and arch a brow, confused as to what it wanted exactly. It was only made too clear what the dog's intent was then as he began to clumsily mount Murphy's uninjured leg.

"What the- fuckin'-get the fuck off me, ye crazy mutt." He whispered fiercely, pushing the dog back down, only to have it return and continue its thrusting. "Connor, help me out here!" With desperation in his helpless eyes, he turned to his brother. Pulled from the paperwork, he glanced over, paused, and snorted.

"This isn't a good day fer ye, is it, Murph?" Shaking his head, he turned back to his business, tucking the first paper behind the rest.

"Oh, t'anks a lot, ye bastard." With dismay, he gazed down to see that the dog was becoming much more enthusiastic. Giving up on pushing him off, he just leaned the rest of his body away from him. Was this normal behavior? Surely the woman could _hear_.

Just as he was about to bring this onslaught of harassment to the owner's attention, his focus was misdirected at the sound of a light, girlish laugh. Glancing back to the blind woman to see if it had been her, his sight discouraged the thought when he saw that her face was as still as before. There was only one other person in the room, so what met his eyes next was the girl with the big black headphones, sitting beside a large ficus with her arms hugging her legs against her chest.

Clad in a flannel button-down, faded jeans, and Chuck Taylors, she looked no more than sixteen. Her heart-shaped face held no spectacular or unusual features, but her inquisitive brown eyes were large, and her cheeks were sweet with their bright, healthy color. With the sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows, he could see she was incredibly fair-skinned as well. Her auburn hair was straight as a pin, coupled with thick, tapered bangs that hung down in her eyes and shifted each time she blinked, and judging from the way her shirt was fitting against her bust, she was curvaceous in a way that didn't look quite right on her. Had she been just a few inches taller it would have been just fine, but with her petite build and small waist it looked more like left over baby fat and random genetics. Despite this, it was her infectious, kilowatt smile that held Murphy's attention. He couldn't help but smile right back, albeit a bit more awkwardly than herself.

"Ye got any ideas?" He asked her, catching Connor's attention, who first glanced to him before his own eyes followed the line of sight. Crossing her arms and setting them upon her knees, she placed her chin upon her bare forearm.

"Sure. Just kick 'im in the balls." She replied, her low voice light and airy, as though she were trapped in a permanent daydream.

"Eh, maybe I'll just let 'im finish up. He should be 'bout done, ye t'ink?" It was a false hope, as he could feel this dog was no where near to being done with him. In fact, he was pretty sure even more gusto had been thrown in. With a crooked smile, her slender eyebrows angled in a way that clearly said, 'Are you kidding?' He nodded, a sigh escaping his lips. "Call that denial."

"Of course."

Turning his eyes back to the dog, his brows lifted as his lips pursed. "I feel so used."

Again, her laugh filled the room, prompting Murphy to entertain an absentminded grin. Her legs unfurled and she came to a stand, olive green messenger bag smacking against her hip as she skipped on light, springy steps towards them. Jumping into the seat straight across from the pair, she laced her fingers together and let her clasped hands hang between her legs. Mimicking his expression, save the pressed lips, she chuckled.

"He's gotta get bored some time." She said matter-of-factly, her head cocking slightly to the left as she observed the scene casually.

"Well, I _am_ awfully pretty." He said with mock smugness, even with his stiff back and locked neck. Connor snorted, writing away until Murphy sent an elbow into his ribs. With a smack to the arm back, he continued. As for the girl, her legs lifted into the chair so that she could sit cross-legged.

"Get in a fight?" She inquired, her eyes flickering to his wound before returning to his face.

"Somet'in' like that. What 'bout ye? Tough t'ing like yerself." Murphy teased back.

Her eyes very nearly disappeared when the apples of her cheeks lifted from the force of her smile, shadows forming to nestle into shallow dimples. Then, just as quick, her chin was jutting out and her brows were stooped low over her eyes. "S'right. Nobody messes wit' 'dis mothafucka." With a flick of her wrist, she flashed a sideways peace sign.

"Pl'ase. What are ye? Twelve? T'irteen?" He jabbed playfully, arching a brow as his hand made a dive for his breast pocket. But groping around for a box that was no longer there, plus the realization he was in a clinic, had him freeze and sigh heavily.

"Old enough to smoke." She quipped, reaching into her bag to pull out a slightly crushed box of Marlboros. Giving it a little shake, the contents within it rattling, she smirked before a cigarette soon occupied her lips, muffling her next statement. "You can bum one if you want. I usually swipe my heterosexual life partner's anyway."

"I'm sorry?" Connor quite suddenly said, lifting his head with a dumbfounded expression. Beside him, Murphy snickered, leaning forward to pluck a stick from the box she held out. He did this with some difficulty, as the dog was still wrapped around his leg, though his thrusting had depleted quite a bit. Seemed he was getting tired.

"My best friend. We refer to ourselves as heterosexual life partners, as we bicker like an old married couple, yet still love each other." She paused, chewing on the filter of her cigarette thoughtfully. "In a completely non-gay, no balls touching kind of way."

Both boys stared at her as though she had just randomly burst into flames. Yet where Connor was quite thoroughly confused, a hint of amusement had the corner of Murphy's lips curling.

"Ye're a very strange g'arl, ye know tha'?" He muttered, his fingers idly toying with the cigarette he held, eyes going back and forth between her and the dog's. With a sigh, he pocketed the stick, and just took all the animal dished out.

"I do what I can. And usually succeed. Also, twenty."

Murphy could feel his eyebrows knit together. "Twenty?" He repeated curiously before jumping at the abrupt, four-second long frenzy the dog suddenly threw itself in. Just as quickly, it became sluggish once more.

"Yes, I'm twenty. Answer to your previous question." With another smirk, she popped her collar, her expression comically smug. "Wut wut?"

Murphy snorted as Connor held back one of his own and returned to the paperwork. "Seriously, ye're as white as our Irish arses."

Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. "Hey, I tried."

"Eh, I t'ink ye scared 'im off wit' that, though." He murmured as the dog paused, offered a few more half-hearted humps, and sank back down to the floor to trot back to his owner, obviously bored with him now. He must've sensed something, for the woman scooped his leash up and stood when a doctor leaned out from the doorframe to call out for a Dorothy. As she shuffled into the hall, leaving only the three of them now, Murphy and the girl shared a laugh, hers a bit more exuberant.

"No means no!" She cried out, her hand shaping around an imaginary can of pepper spray as she imitated a spray to his face. With her outburst, her chewed up cigarette fell to her lap.

"I was just raped." He reported, blinking at her pantomime.

"Ye probably deserved it." Connor replied, tucking another paper behind the stack. The girl just snorted.

"I'm guessing you guys are twins?"

"How ye fig're?" Murphy asked, taking a hesitant glance at his leg to see if anything had gotten on it.

"Well, the matching outfits were my first clue."

With a sheepish chuckle, Murphy glanced down at his black coat and turtleneck. "Pretty sharp."

"I'm good like that."

"So what are ye here fer?"

She merely smiled, her gaze never breaking. "I like your rosary." She said instead, head cocking slightly to the left as she gestured towards it. Glancing down, he quickly took it up and lowered it down into his shirt.

"T'anks." He murmured, patting it down safely.

"Do you have one just like it?" She asked of Connor, who lifted only his eyes to acknowledge her.

"I do."

"Irish Catholics?"

"Right again. If ye guess what our favorite color is, we might actually have te be afraid of ye." Murphy piped back up, enjoying this.

"Hmm…green."

"Nope. We're spared." Moving the cloth over a bit, he felt his pain lessen. At least she was keeping him busy. "What are ye listening te?" He said, jutting out his chin as a gesture to her headphones.

"The Beatles." She replied with a childish smile, her brown eyes dreamy. Clearly he hit something there.

"Oh, yeah? Which song?"

"'Dear Prudence'. It's my favorite."

Silence closed over the two as they simply watched each other, the sound of Connor's pencil scratching at the papers the only thing floating through the air. Murphy felt a tiny grin pulling the corner of his lips, her own entertaining a dimpled beam. Though there was no make-up on her face to enhance them, her large doe eyes were warm and soft.

"By the way, didn' catch yer name." He said, finally breaking the spell. Without even being aware, he leaned forward, lacing his own digits together as his forearms lowered to his thighs. But once his sleeve brushed the swollen blood stain upon his jeans, he hissed in pain and leaned back into his seat.

"Didn't catch yours, either." She returned, her smile becoming strangely enigmatic, though no change was made to it. Perhaps it was simply her tone.

Smirking, he nodded, thoroughly defeated at this point. "Murphy. That's Connor." He said, jerked his thumb towards his brother, who lifted only a hand in greeting as he continued to read over the information. Moving the last paper to the back, he came to a stand in a fluid sweep, rounding the row of chairs to deliver them to the woman behind the window.

With a light chuckle, her arm shot straight up to adjust a thin, black watch that hung loosely on her wrist. Turning it over, palm up, she glanced down into the silver face. "If my doctor doesn't fail, which he usually doesn't, you'll find out my name in about…three seconds." She said, lifting her eyes to peer into his own. And just as predicted, the door swung open and another doctor, young and dark-haired, leaned out, offering the girl a wide grin.

"We're all ready for you, Pip."

Jumping straight up, startling Murphy just a slight, she gave a little wave.

"And there you have it. See ya later, Murph." She chirped, pulling her headphones down to hang around her neck as she stood. Away she skipped, her hair bouncing all about, shining garnet in the pearly sunlight it caught before it settled around her elbows. Making a small leap towards the doctor, she landed just short of actually knocking him down, her back snapping straight up as her head tilted back. As she gazed up into his face, it was made only too clear just how truly small she was.

"Morning, Doc. Poking at my brain again?"

"Aren't we always? Come on in, Pippin." He said with a chuckle, turning to disappear behind the doorframe. A single hand coming up to press against it, her head turned to throw back once last glance to Murphy, her light grin growing more severe until it was dimpling again. With a final wave of her free hand, she skipped away down the hall, the door closing after her.

He wasn't sure if he should be confused or…well, okay, he was very sure he should be confused. What an odd girl.

Connor returned, easing himself back into his seat as he scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair. Hand moving to his eyes, he pinched the skin between them. "Have I mentioned what a pain in the arse ye are t'day?" He mumbled. Murphy didn't respond. He was still too busy staring at the door with a puzzled frown.

"Oy, earth te Murph. Anyone home in thar?" He tried again, this time throwing in a light smack to the back of his head. After a second's delay, his attention was held.

"What?"

"Got'cherself a crush?" Connor teased with an arched brow. "Or did that dog rub off on ye?" Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, his grin devilish, the pun was obvious enough to make Murphy roll his eyes.

"Oh, don' even start. S'not like that at all."

"Oh really? Then pl'ase, enlighten me as to what it really was."

"Just bein' friendly, Connor. Ye don' have te make somet'in' dirty outta'vit."

"Don' t'ink I didn' see ye gawkin' at her like a fish. Not that I blame ye o' course. Not a bad-lookin' lass."

"She had a pretty smile." Murphy murmured. Connor was silent, just watching his brother with an expression that evolved from puzzled to amused.

"Ye're totally head over arse!"

"Oh, shaddap. I am not." Murphy snapped, turning in his seat sharply as his face quickly dropped into a scowl.

"Yes ye are. Look at them big cow eyes o' yours." He laughed, poking at his side. Smacking his sibling's prodding hands away, Murphy's scowl only darkened.

"Connor, I'm serious, I wasn' t'inkin' any such t'ing."

"Alrigh', alrigh'!" He coaxed, hands lifted in mock surrender. "Easy thar, Nelly. Was just fuckin' wit' ye."

"I was just bein' nice."

"Alrigh', already'e! Jaysus."

Once more, a heavy cloud of quiet closed over the two as they sat side by side and stared at the floor. Connor leaned forward, elbows propped up on his thighs as Murphy still sat back and dabbed at his wound.

When the silence took over, Murphy took this time to ponder all that his brother said. None of it was true, of course, for how could he possibly develop anything resembling infatuation for a girl he held a ten minute long conversation with? True, she was quite cute with her sweet face, and her big eyes, and her nice skin, and the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled, and… Murphy blinked, quickly rearranging his face into a frown. She was also incredibly young, and quite clearly an oddity, even when being assessed by one who went out and killed bad men with his barely-sane brother on a daily basis. Still, something about that bright gleam in her eye held his attention so completely, so astonishingly, it was near to impossible to ignore. He wasn't about to shrug off the goosebumps that had erupted all over his legs and arms when they shared that silent stare, but he could damn sure pretend it meant nothing.

Jesus, his leg hurt too much to really care. Cute girl, nice smile, big whoop. It was leaking bodily fluids, meaning that was more dire. The quiet lasted a good five minutes, but was quite suddenly broken as Connor's head pivoted.

"Did'ja get a good eyeful of her tits while ye were at it?" Holding his cupped hands slightly away from his chest, he seemed to be exaggerating the size he'd seen. "Fuckin' melons, weren' they? T'ink two hands or t'ree might' cover it?"

"Damn it, Connor!"

Needless to say, it took several attempts for the woman behind the window to get the two to stop smacking each other.


	2. In Which Serendipity is a Total Bitch

_I want a girl who gets up early_

_I want a girl who stays up late_

_I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity_

_Who uses a machete to cut through red tape_

_With fingernails that shine like justice_

_And a voice that is dark like tinted glass_

**~Short Skirt, Long Jacket, by Cake~**

There have only been a handful of people in this world society could consider truly happy. Norah Evans, known to all as Pippin, was just such a person. Or she was a damn good actress.

She had all the qualities of one who shouldn't be as cheerful as she was. She was a single girl in a world of millions, yet she was still the most requested waitress at _Café Python_, and she seemed to make friends with anyone that came within a five mile radius of her. True, she was slightly crazy, and many wondered if her happiness was as genuine as she made it seem, but she was always laughing no matter who was giving her a hard time. And probably the most important of all, she always, _always_ minded her own business.

However, it was on one particularly chilly March evening that this would all come to change. The day that _Café Python _would receive the Saints of South Boston. Of course, no one knew that just yet; they went unnoticed by staff and patrons alike the moment they stepped through the door. The were just two simple men with a need for some booze, and were regarded as such. Pippin, however, leaned out for a better look, her hands still fumbling with the strings of her little black apron. Once tied successfully into a bow, she returned to her curious staring. Standing beside her in the next moment was Lily, checking to see if her lipstick was even once her own apron was secured. As always, the two girls looked worlds apart, so much so even they acknowledged the fact that their being best friends was an oddity.

Never so much as a hair was out of place where Lily Ashton was concerned. Her dark tresses had just the right amount of curl, her tasteful make-up was always expertly applied, her nails were never without beautifully polished French tips, and she was always up to date with the latest fashions. It was her beauty that made up for the fact she was foul-mouthed and aggressive. Pippin, on the other hand, was perfectly content with being the "cute best friend." In fact, the only improvement she had been coaxed into allowing was taming and tweezing her thick eyebrows until they were just slender enough to be girlish. Glancing at her in the corner of her eye, Lily eyed the fuzzy tipped pen that held her hair and sighed.

"We finally get a couple of hunks in here, and you look like your typical dosage of crap. Dude, I know you can't save the outfit, but you can still salvage the hair." She deadpanned, turning her hazel brown eyes back to the dark figures that stood in the doorway. "Seriously, strut your stuff, Boobs McGee. And quit buttoning your shirts up so high. With your rack, you should be parading that shit."

Pippin blinked, gazing down at the apparently offensive outfit. At _Café Python _(so named because of the owner's unhealthy obsession for Monty Python), the uniform consisted of a black miniskirt for women, black slacks for men, black button-downs for both, and whatever shoes the staff wished to wear. In Lily's case, red stilettos. In Pippin's case, black Doc Martens that had seen better days.

Rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, Pippin just smiled and slipped her book into the pocket of her apron. "You leave Lucy and Ethel out of this." She always thought her breasts were just impolitely excessive. Usually she hid them with two sports bras and baggy shirts or flannel button-downs, but there was no concealing them now. And in all honesty, there really was no way one could hide cantaloupe-sized breasts on a person that barely pushed 160 centimeters. Even with a fucking spacesuit.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Fine. But all I'm saying is when guys like _that_ walk in here, fix it up a little."

"I know them. I saw them at the clinic the other day." Pippin replied.

Lily shrugged, taking a drag on the cigarette she had lit while Pippin was assessing her attire. Sighing a lungful of smoke, she held the end in front of her friend's face, letting her take a good lungful of her own before bringing it back to her lips. Toying with her bottom lip, Lily watched them with a lifted brow.

They were quite obviously twins, evident in the synchronized, fluid way they moved and the similar outfits they wore, yet there was something that made them so strangely different. On the left seemed to be the more brooding of the two; with his dark hair and the wild gleam that flashed in his heavy, hot blue stare, he vaguely reminded her of James Dean. His uncultivated aura made him even more intriguing, and his black sweater was clashing curiously against his beautifully pale, Celtic complexion. On the right was a fairer-featured man, the lines of his face softer and more rounded, graceful where his brother's was sharp and severe. His mousy brown hair had a warm, buttery shimmer when the light touched it, and stuck up in every direction, as though static electricity were constantly coursing through every strand. The olive green sweater he wore complimented the rich, sun-kissed tone of his skin, and with the sleeves rolled up, she could see strong muscles twitch in his forearm.

Though different, they weren't a disappointment, this was certain. The young girl they stood before was stock-still, her jaw sagging open as her brown eyes shone with awe. Arching a brow, they looked to her expectantly.

"Can we have a table, pl'ase?" The one Pippin knew to be Connor asked, his deep voice musical with his thick accent.

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, of course." The poor girl stammered, shaking her head to clear her muddled thoughts. "Right over here." Snatching two menus, she turned sharply, her blonde ponytail flying. As they followed, she noticed the slight limp in Murphy's stride.

Lily exhaled pale gray smoke before relaying what was left of the cigarette. Crossing her arms over her slim chest, she snorted.

"Well, they've already made Chloe's brain melt. Call 911 if you see me fall into a coma." With that, she was off, her dark hair flying back away from her face. Long strides, back straight, chin lifted. She was _fierce_. Finishing the cigarette and flicking the stub into a trash can, Pippin watched in rapt fascination before her attention was summoned elsewhere.

"Pip, your eyes are going to pop out if you don't blink sometime soon." Said an amused male voice. Turning, her smile already in place, she just rolled them heavenward.

"Shut up, Kai."

Shaking his head, Kai shed his coat and hung it up to join the rest. Coming to stand beside her, he tied his apron in place and readjusted his belt with a snort. Only Pippin knew this was his way of dealing with the fact Lily was a total flirt, which didn't help his hopeless, unrequited crush on her. She wasn't quite sure why he still pined after her, for though Lily was plenty beautiful, Kai could definitely have any girl he wanted. Without a doubt he was a handsome young man, even if he did have electric blue streaks in his shaggy black hair. He had the tall, lean figure of an Olympic swimmer, often mistaken for lanky when a shirt was involved, and a lovely complexion as pale as fresh cream. The fact he was a quarter Japanese was evident only in the slight, impish tilt of his dark eyes.

"So, has she fucked one? Both? All together? What?" He grumbled, his nose wrinkling slightly.

"No. She's never met them. That would have been me, actually." She replied, feeling his eyes burning into the side of her head. "Meaning I'm the one who met them. They're very nice."

"Huh. Yeah, well, they touch you, I stab them with a poker." He said, his gaze no longer intense.

"I think they're handsome. Especially Murphy."

"Who?"

"The one on the left. He's the one I mostly spoke to. The other's Connor. I didn't really get to know him."

"With that lap dance she's giving him, I'd say you'll get to know him a bit better." He spat bitterly, tucking his book into his apron and turning on heel. But just as he took two steps away from her, he backtracked, took a long stare at her chest with knitted brows, and quickly popped the third button of her shirt, leaving a fair amount of cleavage to show. A choked squeak escaped, and she clasped her hands to her chest, locking startled eyes with his. "She's right, you know. A little boob never killed anyone, and you have plenty of boob to go around." With that said, he took off power walking.

She merely watched his retreating back, blinking eyes set in a blank and puzzled face before they turned to Lily. What he said was more or less true; she was leaning into their table, pushing her chest out like a strutting rooster. Sighing, Pippin shook her head, her smile both amused and weary. As much as she loved Lily, she couldn't help but disapprove of her approach to the opposite sex. She was by no means a loose girl, but it was very easy to see how she would come off as one. It still made her laugh whenever she would come stomping over in a huff, complaining about how men were such pigs to her. Since this was such a regular thing, it wouldn't surprise her when who should be walking back with long strides and pumping arms but Lily, her expression stormy and her eyes flashing.

"Oh my God, Pip, you're going to have to work your mojo on these guy. They're both complete _asses_." She snarled, her mannerisms much more dramatic than usual as her hands were fixed into claws.

Pippin laughed, expecting this would happen. After a certain incident where Lily had broken the nose of a customer who made a grab for her ass, it had been decreed that should she ever be serving someone who irritated her to that extreme (which was essentially all the time), she would give the table to Pippin, who was the only one in the whole café who could turn a customer in a frothing rage to a harmless kitten. She was the only one who could do this because, quite frankly, no one, not even the owner, gave a flying fuck about what the customer thought. Still, a law suit's a law suit, so she was the behavioral janitor.

"Alright, alright. Before you gore someone with your horns, why don't you take one of my tables."

"Thank you. You're a life-" She started, closing in for a hug before her eyes caught the popped button and she slowly back away. Lifting her brows, she peered back up at Pippin. "Whoa. Hey, baby."

"Oh my God, can anyone in this place think about anything other than my boobs?" She said through an exasperated sigh, taking that moment to start off to their table. She found herself becoming excited though. She knew them both to be the complete opposite of Lily's accusation, which could only be stemmed from a carelessly delivered come-on that was possibly botched. Lily was, after all, a rather poor judge of character. Explaining all the men she actually did date.

At last she stood before them, and when Murphy's hazy blue eyes, like the sea before a storm, slowly turned to her, she felt her smile stretch even wider.

"Hey, I know ye." He cut in with a growing smile just as her lips parted to deliver her usual spiel. The rapt attention of his twin was caught as he began to scrutinize her with narrow eyes. She prayed she wouldn't blush; even in the dim, candlelit atmosphere her fair skin could easily betray one.

"Oh yeah. Ye that lass from the doc's office." He agreed.

With an exaggerated shrug and expression to match, she just decided to go with it. "You caught me. Though judging from the shock of seeing me here, I'm guessing I can strike the possibility of you guys stalking me?"

"Probably. Though we migh' be able te work that in te our bus'e schedule. We probabl'e have 'bout t'ree hours te spare." Murphy replied, leaning back in his seat and scratching at a brow with his thumbnail. Connor snorted, propping his elbow up onto the table. Shaking of her head with a quiet chuckle, she pulled forth her little notepad from her apron and slid the feathery pen out of her hair. Instantly, it fell like a cascade to her elbows.

"Alrighty, what'll it be boys?" Pen poised over the notepad, she looked up to them with her ever-infectious smile. And just like before, Murphy couldn't help but copy it.

"Eh, we'll take a Smithwick's each." Connor supplied with a grin of his own before turning back to glance at the menu. Unlike his brother, he wasn't as charmed with this odd little wench. Rather than gaze at her for an unnecessarily long time, he fished a box of cigarettes from his back pocket, pulling one out between his lips and lighting it with a silver Zippo. Slender tendrils of gray smoke lifted to the air before they exploded into a cloud and dispersed. Murphy made a grab for one, but he his hand was smacked away by a scowling Connor. "Ye wasted yer smokes alread'e. Lay off'a mine."

"Get it, got it, good." She chirped, stashing her notepad. Scooping up her hair with the pen, she twirled it rapidly to wrap it all around and stuck the pointed tip into the twisted knot. "I'll go ahead and take these out of your way." Taking the menus from their outstretched hands, she angled her shoulders to leave.

"Yer name's Norah, huh?" Murphy called out, halting her steps. Smiling back at him, she merely nodded before showing her back again. "So why'd the doc call ye Pippin before?" He inquired again, his lips entertaining a teasing grin. Obviously he was doing this just to mess with her. Just as she turned to retreat into the kitchens, she sighed.

Well, why the hell not. It was a question often asked anyway. Glancing back over her shoulder, they angled once more for a slow turn. "Well, why'd your brother call you a fuckwit before?" She shot back instead. Unleashing a bark of laughter, Connor slapped a hand against his knee as he doubled over slightly, lifting back up to applaud her. With a small curtsey and a light laugh, she returned to the table, hugging the menus to her ample chest.

"It's been my nickname ever since I was a kid. My brother Jude started it when I was in the second grade, and it's just stuck ever since."

"Tolkien fan, I'm guessin'?" Connor asked, tapping a lump of ash into the tray set before him.

"Kind of. I was actually called Pippin because I ate a whole lot. Still do. Plus I have Hobbit feet." At that, both men graced her with identical expressions of disbelief and bemusement. "Yep. I'll prove it. See," sitting herself down in the empty seat between the both of them, she rested her leg up on the opposite knee, unlaced her shoe, and tugged it off. Having no socks on, she merely dropped it to the ground, leaned back in her chair, and watched with a smug grin as both jaws dropped.

This girl, for being such a tiny little thing, however disproportional she was, had probably the biggest feet they had ever seen. On a human female, anyway. Long and thin, with toes like a velociraptor's, she was easily pushing a size 11 ½ in women's sizes. Maybe even a whopping 12.

"Jaysus! Ye eve' go skiin' on them talons o' yers?" Murphy cried out.

Rather than be cross, she merely laughed. Shaking her head, bangs shimmering in the candlelight as they swayed, she touched a hand to her brow, still working out the giggles. "No, but I'm a damn good roller skater."

"I'd t'ink so."

"Well, they may make it a pain in the ass to buy shoes, but my coach certainly loved them. They won us a lot of competitions."

"Eh?"

"I used to be on this really small roller derby team. If anyone hadn't seen my feet up close and personal, they kind of guessed it because everyone there called me The Sasquatch."

This comment was rewarded with another cackle, this time delivered by the both of them.

"I'd say tha's 'bout right. Christ's fuckin' sake, g'arl, ye could probabl'e walk all the way te California and onl'e have te take two fuckin' steps." Connor said through his cigarette.

"Yeah, and jus' in case ye get tired, always got yer friend over thar te hitch ye a ride." Murphy gestured to a still scowling Lily over at the end of the bar with a jab of his thumb.

"Oh, aye. Way she shoved 'er tits in our face ye t'ink she could." His brother agreed, his voice lilting softly as his flicked at the end of the cigarette again. "That why yer ove' here and not 'er?"

"Yeah, kinda. Lily just can't seem to understand that she digs her own holes. She's always been like that, though. Still love her to death. Actually, there was this one time where…" Pippin's hands became active as she went on her ramble, too focused on her memory to realize that she was the only one paying any real attention to herself.

The only thing that held the brother's concentration was the television that flickered behind her. An anchorman whose hair looked like he had used Crisco to gel it back was reporting yet another Italian mobster's demise, the result of none other than the Saints' personal intervention. Shooting an inconspicuous side glance to his brother, Connor smirked, obviously quite pleased with himself. Murphy didn't need to return the gaze to mimic the grin.

"So how's your leg?" Pippin's voice cut in, snapping their focus back onto her. Her expression was unfathomable; no longer smiling, it almost looked like a cross between confusion and caution. And it could have been their imagination, but a touch of fear seemed to be lurking in her brown eyes as well. Then, just as quick as it had appeared, it was replaced with a small smile.

"What?" Murphy asked dumbly, his brows lifting. Pippin snorted before repeating her question. "Oh, it's okay. Still hurts a bit."

"Did you guys ever find the douche that shot you?"

"Uh, nah, he ran off before we could get a good look at 'im." Connor replied smoothly, digging the end of his little finger into the corner of his eye. It scared Murphy to know just how good a liar his brother had become in the past couple of days.

"Oh, that sucks. Well, I'm glad you're okay. I think I'll bugger off now." She said, rising to her feet and slipping her bare foot back into her shoe. Once tied, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll go get your drinks. Just…call me if you need anything, I guess." She turned away from them for the final time, the tuft of hair that stuck out from the knot bouncing with each step she took. The brother's watched her departing back, their expressions curious.

"What do ye s'pose was wrong wit' 'er?" Murphy murmured with a frown.

"I dunno. T'ink she was upset we was ignorin' 'er?"

"Nah. Well, maybe. How should I know?"

"Women things?" Glancing to his brother, Connor replied with a small lift of his shoulders, the corner of his lips quirked. Crushing the stub that was left of the cigarette into the tray, he exhale his final ghost of blue smoke. "I dunno. Whateve' ye keep havin' te tell yerself."

Murphy looked away and sighed, staring at the light trail of ash that had drifted over onto the table. "If it'll keep 'er from gettin' 'er face blown off, I'll tell meself whateve' I need te."


	3. In Which Pip Puts the Fun in Dysfunction

_For those of you who thought you'd be forgotten, _

_The friends you've made will try their best, to make it so._

_Think of all the beauty that you left behind you._

_You can take it if you want it, and then let it go._

**~This Is Not a Test, by She & Him~**

"Murph, lend me a light?" Rocco piped up after a lingering silence, muffled from the cigarette that bobbed up and down between his lips. At his side, he could see the darker twin visibly jump before he did as asked. Lifting a thick brow, Rocco eyed him curiously.

"Hey, what the fuck's with you lately? You've been real jumpy ever since that fuckin' Commie cocksucker."

"Don' worry 'bout it, Roc." Murphy murmured softly, holding the Zippo aloft. Rocco held eye contact as he leaned forward, feeding the end of the stick into the flame.

"Ya sure you're-"

"I said I'm fine. Quit worryin' 'bout me."

Rocco fell silent, holding his gaze to the side of Murphy's face. Then, taking in a short drag, he whirled around to face the building they stood before, his long black trench coat billowing out. "The fuck's taking your dumbass brother so fuckin' long?"

With that, the subject was dropped.

Murphy had to learn to stop being so paranoid all the time; with the integration of vigilantism in his and his brother's life, he had grown to be quite good at tossing glances back over his shoulder just to make sure another huge Russian wasn't coming after him. Alas, he was as much a nutter, if not twice, as Connor was for actually going through with the plan tonight.

But he was standing beneath the street light waiting for the dumb wop, fishing about in the breast pocket of his work shirt for a cigarette when he very nearly took her head off. Possibly the worst time to do it, as cravings for nicotine always made him crazier. The pearly, milky light that had him squinting slightly was blocked out as hands clapped against his eyes, and just as he tapped a cigarette out of his pack with a practiced gesture and set the filter to his lips, he was whirling around with a slender wrist in his iron grasp. Twisting her arm behind their back, it took him a moment for his adrenaline to pass before he realized his assailant was but a girl. A girl he knew, no less.

"Jesus Christ!" Rocco cried out, stepping back quickly.

"Ow! Murphy, you idiot, it's me!" The girl cried out, her long auburn hair sweeping the sidewalk as she was nearly bent in half.

"Oh, fuck, Pip!" Murphy gasped, releasing her instantly and stepping away to give her some room. Waiting for her to compose herself, he suddenly realized she wasn't alone. Standing some ways back, her eyes wide and pale as a glacier, a young girl about Pippin's age watched him with muted fright.

Dressed similarly to Pippin in a black goose-down parka, jeans, and sneakers, she was like a streak of whitewash against the endless gray wall they all stood before, straight white-blonde hair and translucent skin making her seem ethereal and angelic. Her tall, graceful figure sharply countered Pippin's healthy curves, and she was as stunningly beautiful as a Rembrandt angel. Hell, she was beautiful to the point of disfigurement, practically feminine perfection standing before him. But when he turned his focus back to the auburn-haired girl that was muttering a flurry of particularly crude expletives, the hypnosis was broken. She seemed to be collecting her poise as her arm dangled lifelessly.

"Fuck, you okay?" Rocco inquired, placing a hand upon her shoulder before he turned a look that clearly said, 'What the fuck, dude?' to a shame-faced Murphy. Lifting herself to full height, running a hand through her red-gold tresses, Pippin regarded Rocco with a cool, level gaze, a grateful smile touching her lips. Beside the heavenly girl, her sweet face suddenly seemed plain and pudgy.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Thank you." It took only a second for her to morph her expression so that she could pin Murphy with one of utter exasperation. He was just itching to take a swipe at it, and had to chew on his thumb to refrain from pointing out she was the one who scared him first.

When she looked at him expectantly, he muttered around his thumbnail, "Wha' are ye doin' here? This neighborhood's rough."

"We're meeting someone. Saw you and figured we'd say hi first. Where's Connor?" She inquired, glancing around to search for him herself.

"He's still in-" He started, bringing a thumb back to gesture over his shoulder. He was cut off, however, when who would come jogging up but the light-haired MacManus brother himself.

"Huh, the devil really does appear when you speak of him." Pippin quipped, her half grin fox-like and mischievous.

"Hey, what're ye doin' here?" Connor growled playfully, pulling her into a headlock to grind his knuckles into her crown.

"Oh, Jesus, do I have to be attacked by every freakin' mick in Boston?" She grumbled, muffled from his arm. Laughing, he released her and quickly ducked away from a sharp cuff aimed at his elbow. As he did so, he nearly knocked into the beautiful blonde, who remained silent with a blank face. She seemed completely lost, glancing between him and Murphy before they probed the laughing eyes of Pippin.

"Aye, sorry, lass." Connor apologized in a low voice once he caught himself, lifting a hand in greeting. A tiny smile curling the corner of her perfect, cupid bow lips, she returned the gesture, if slightly more hesitant. He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, caught in the same spell that had ensnared Murphy.

"So can I be part of this little club?" Rocco put in, arching a brow as he glanced between all three.

"Oh, right, Rocco, this here's Pip. She's tha' g'arl from the clinic we was tellin' ye 'bout." Connor chuckled before turning curious eyes to the angelic beauty. "But, ah, don' know who this'un here is."

Pippin set her hands upon the poor girl's shoulder and laughed merrily, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "Sorry. Guys, this is my sister, Holly. And it's very nice to meet you, Rocco." With a frighteningly firm, almost beast-like grip, they exchanged a handshake. Rocco seemed to crumbled where he stood, his face fixing into one of startled pain. When released, he slapped his hand out and stared at her in disbelief.

"Wait, ye're siste'?" Murphy repeated incredulously, his eyebrows very nearly disappearing as they shot up to his hairline. Connor arched one as well, double taking. "Ye…look…"

"Nothing alike? I know. My mom was blonde perfection. I take after my dad." She explained with a dismissive wave. "Isn't she just gorgeous?" She beamed, oozing with pride as she wrapped her arms around her sister's shoulders and pulled her in close, their cheeks pressing together. Still, Holly's face was largely unchanging. All that altered was a weak, quivering grin.

"Uh. Well."

"You can go ahead and say it. She won't be mad." Pippin urged.

"Yeah, she's…beautiful." Connor mumbled, a stain of pink pooling in his cheeks. Pippin punched a fist in the air with a short laugh of triumph and turned to face her sister, hands instantly forming odd shapes and whizzing through the air in a stream of gestures.

Sign language.

As she did this, Holly's face gradually cleared and formed a smile of her own. When Pippin's hands dropped, she faced Connor then, placing her fingertips upon her lips and bringing them away with a slight bow to her mid-section.

"She says thank you." Pippin reported.

"For…what?" Connor said slowly, utterly lost.

"I told her you think she's beautiful."

"I…wait…what?"

Murphy seemed to make the connection faster, Rocco coming up just short. Bursting with laughter that nearly summoned tears, he managed to sneak a few keys phrases in his crack up, such as, "You fuckin' eejit."

Pippin just blinked, mesmerized by how slow he was. "Dude, she's deaf." She said slowly.

"As a post apparently." Rocco added.

"I…yeah. Sorry." Connor muttered, the color in his face ripening.

Rolling her eyes, Pippin's hands came alive again, weaving pictures in the air for her sibling to interpret. Releasing a high, melodic laugh like a silver bell, Holly joined in, her own signing just as graceful and fluid. The three just watched this all unfold, completely dominated by fascination and confusion.

"Wha' are ye two sayin'?" Murphy finally broke in, his interest bringing an impatient edge to his voice.

"Well, technically we're not saying anything." Pippin instantly fired back. Connor and Rocco just snorted as Murphy's face darkened. Lifting her eyes heavenward, she angled herself in a way where she could converse with all four. "I was saying how much of a dork Connor is," she deadpanned, still signing away, "and she was sticking up for him. But you're way worse, so it doesn't really matter."

Amused sympathy set on her perfect face, Holly cut in to protest.

"No, trust me, he's bad." Pippin replied with both hands and mouth.

"Quit tellin' yer siste' I'm bad when I can' even defend meself." Murphy grumbled.

"That's not true. I can translate for you."

"Yeah, how do I know ye just don' sign somet'in' completely different?"

"Because I'm awesome."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway, enough of this nonsense. Are you guys off work?"

"Yeah, why?" Connor cut in, mildly distracted from her rapidly moving hands.

"Holly and I were going to meet our brother for a late lunch. Do you want to come with us?"

Her attention torn from Pippin, Holly signed something to them with a pleading, inviting smile on her face. All three men could feel their hearts flutter in their chest.

"She says, 'Please come. You'll like Jude. He's funny.'" Pippin informed.

"Uh, well, we kinda had somet'in' te do te'day." Connor murmured, rubbing his nape awkwardly. Beside him, Murphy scuffed the sidewalk with a heavy boot, reaching into his pocket to replace the cigarette that had been lost when Pippin had startled him.

Successfully lighting it this time, he took in a pensive drag.

"Wait, no you don't." Rocco said after a moment, his brows knitted together. "We were all just going to get shit-faced at the bar."

"Er, somet'in' came up, Roc. 'Sides, don' ye have plans tonight, too?" Murphy supplied.

"Yeah, but…uh…" Rocco trailed away, his comment exhausted.

"Oh, please, you guys can spare an hour. Besides, how can you say no to this face?" Pippin's hands paused a moment to frame Holly's cheeks, pressing them together and making her lips push out. Exchanging a furtive, uneasy glance, they all shifted their weight. She had a point.

"Well, if it's just an hour…"

"Schweet! Let's go!" She failed to sign this time, instead clapping her hands together before her arm looped around Holly's neck. Dragging her away, her feet stumbling as she did so, it took a minute for her to understand what was going on before she collected her balance and began to skip right alongside Pippin, their arms locked. Their hair bouncing as they did so, Holly's silver locks contrasting sharply to Pippin's red, they shared a jubilant laugh.

Pausing to watch their retreating backs with puzzled stares, Murphy and Connor just glanced at each other, shook their heads, and started off to trail behind. As for Rocco, he was still trying to wrap his mind around this entire episode from start to finish. So, as usual, he had to dart into a run to catch up.

* * *

"So, who's the olde' siste'?" Connor began, stabbing at the clump of ice with a bright red straw. Beside him, Murphy expelled a haze of white smoke, tapping a log of ash into the ashtray. Rocco had pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards at the end of the booth, his chin resting on his crossed arms as they lied upon the back, his sunglasses holding his hair away from his face. Opposite Connor, Pippin's hand were active every moment, serving as translator to all four parties, as well as herself. They couldn't help but admire the fact she was able to speak and sign at the same time without break.

"She is. I'm the baby of the family. Jude's the oldest, Holly's the moody middle."

"Does he look like yer mam, too?"

"Yep. Blonde and blue-eyed. I'm odd man out as the fat redhead." She laughed. Beside her, Holly snorted into her soda before covering her nose and mouth politely. She was such a delicate, girlish little thing, the abrasiveness, however small, took them off guard.

"Were ye born deaf, Holly?" Murphy inquired next, casually taking Rocco's beer from his hand just as the lip was about to meet his mouth, placing it upon his own instead. He downed a decent amount with a quick tip back, and made no motion to return it. As Pippin's hands wound down, she cupped one around her neck, leaning into it as her hair spilled onto her corner of the table. Holly instantly took up where she left off, her face changing expressions as it would if she were speaking her own story rather than her sister.

"'I've been deaf my entire life, but I like to think of that as a good thing. I imagine it would just be awful to have something as important as your sight or your hearing and then suddenly lose it. I've never been upset, or jealous about being deaf while Jude and Pippy can still hear. To me, that's just how it's always been, and I've had so much support from my family, it doesn't even matter.'"

"Wow. That's really cool." Rocco muttered. After a brief pause of Pippin's signing, Holly continued, smiling as bright as the sunshine that filtered in through the window they sat beside.

"'It's hardly an issue with everyone I know. I manage really well with what I have. I can even listen to music.'"

"Wait, how do you do that?" Rocco asked, scratching at his beard.

"'We have this really big stereo in our apartment, and whenever I just feeling like listening to music, I'll turn it up really loud and sit on top of it. I listen through the vibrations. Same with the car.'"

"Doesn' tha' piss yer neighbors off?" Murphy inquired.

"Not really. They all know she's deaf. Besides, the only ones who ever try to mess with us are scared of the dog." Pippin said through a snort.

"Got yerselves a vicious Chihuahua?" Connor snickered, taking a sip from his soda before he chased it down with a bit of Rocco's stolen beer.

"Uh, more like an Irish Wolfhound whose femur alone is about as long as my entire arm."

With a charming little giggle, Holly added in, 'His name's Moose.'

"Moose?" Connor arched a brow.

"'Cause he's as big as one. And he kinda sounds like one when he howls."

There was a pause as Holly fished a little silver camera from her purse. After pushing a few buttons with the most blissful expression etched upon her perfect face, she turned it to present it to them, her face aglow. Upon the screen was quite possibly the largest dog they had ever seen. With long, lanky limbs, a knobby head, course gray fur, and a big pink tongue lolling out the side of its mouth, it was the funniest looking thing to ever exist in the canine world. Beside it, a little girl in a white sundress, drastically dwarfed compared to the beast, struggled on her tiptoes as she hugged him around the neck. Like Holly, she was a breathtaking, blonde angel.

"Who's tha'?"

"Her daughter. My niece." Pippin supplied casually.

"Wait, yer a mam?" Connor gawked, passing the camera to Rocco, who was leaning far over for a better look.

Her delayed response was an enthusiastic nod before her hands flew up in rapid signing.

"'That's my baby girl. Isn't she the most beautiful thing you ever saw?'"

"Looks just like ye."

"'That's what a lot of people say, but I just don't see it.'"

"How do you not see it? She's her fuckin' clone." Rocco said, eyes on the picture. Pippin, rather than translate that, just snickered.

"Her name's Rosalind. Rose. She's four."

"Jaysus, how old are ye, Holly? Ye can' be that much more'n Pip." Though Holly signed her reply, Pippin answered him herself.

"She's twenty-seven." All three men just stared, reassessing her flawless features again. She looked like she couldn't have been more than twenty. Hell, she almost looked as young as her sister, whose appearance didn't quite measure up to her actual age either. Before their sagging jaws could form any questions as to how that was even possible, all three's attention was simultaneously caught as the figure of a man crept forward, darting behind any obstacle as he traveled booth to booth. Finally, as he came to stand behind the half of the booth Holly and Pippin were seated in, they managed a good look at him.

He was incredibly tall and lanky, much more than they, and had the tough, wiry build of a bare-knuckled boxer. His tussled blonde hair, more gold than the silver of Holly's, hung down in his eyes, and a scruffy goatee was beginning to come in on his sharp chin. Upon his nose perched a pair of rose-tinted teashades, a belt with piano keys printed on it held already close fitting black jeans, and the sleeves of his bright turquoise button down had been rolled up. A little effeminate, and rather mischievous with his fox-like face, but still handsome. It didn't take much thought to realize this must've been Jude.

Placing a long, spindly digit to his lips, he signaled for quiet as they moved to snatch the side of Pippin's head and shoulder, pulling it to the side to expose her long, lily white neck. With a vicious snarl, he bent over the back of the booth, dropping his mouth to her jugular. Pippin screamed in laughter as she struggled and kicked, making all the drinks upon the table jump slightly. Instantly, all dove to save their respective beverages.

"Jude, you fat fuck! Get off!"

Snapping back up, his grin was smug. "But I vant to suck your bloood~!" He purred in an awful Transylvanian accent.

"How about you suck my cock instead."

With an exaggerated gasp, his hand flew to his mouth. "Oh, you're so bad!" He squealed in an over-the-top, stereotypical queen's voice. Prancing daintily around the booth, he fell into the space made for him as Holly and Pippin scooted over. "And like _you _have room to call me the fat fuck." He added, reaching over to pinch Pippin's side. "What happened to that diet you were so determined to stay on, eh, Bitch Tits Bob?"

Rather than grace that remark with a reply, Pippin merely opened her mouth wide and proceeded to stuff a large chunk of her cupcake into it, chewing it with inappropriate moans and eye rolling.

"Fat ass. Anyway, so who the hell are you and why are you seducing my baby sisters?" He shot off without hesitance, leaning into the table with crossed arms. The boys were surprised to hear a very rough, masculine voice come from a throat that had produced one extremely feminine just a moment ago.

"Uh…we're…" Murphy began feebly, completely at a loss for words as he just openly gawked at the golden-haired imp. The hell did this guy think he was anyway? Barging in, tossing accusations without even so much as a handshake, let alone an introduction. Not to mention the fact he called Pippin fat for no fucking reason. Connor and Rocco, on the other hand, couldn't help but chuckle at his straight-forwardness. Murphy didn't need to glance over at his brother to see that he was pinning him down with a stare that clearly said, 'Chill out. Take a joke, Macho Murph.'

"This is Murphy, Connor, and Rocco. Guys, this is my failed science experiment." Pippin said, presenting him with a casual gesture.

"Wait, Murphy?" Jude repeated, blue eyes narrow as he scrutinized the darker twin's face.

"Y-yeah…"

"Wow. So, dude, tell me, who needed the cigarette first? You or the dog?" Hooding his eyes, his eyebrows shot up quickly before they fell, his smirk extremely suggestive. He didn't even have the chance to register what was said before all save for a bemused Holly and a smirking Jude erupted with full force cackling. Slapping his hand down on the table, Connor had tears running from his eyes before the minute was out.

"J-Jude, be nice." Pippin gasped, voice amplified as her head fell forward into the circle of her arms, her entire body shaking. Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, the wiry blonde casually lit it with the flick of an intricately patterned Zippo.

"Just make sure Moose doesn't get a hold of him. Might hump him into the Twilight Zone."

"This is the dimension of imagination…" Pippin began ominously.

"It is an area which we call…" Jude paused dramatically, whipping his head around. "The Twilight Zone." In perfect unison, both began to hit the notes of the theme song.

All poor Holly could do was just sit there, pale eyes flitting to every face, searching for answers as to what the hell was going on. Jude lifted a hand, his chuckle appealing. "Sorry, man, just fuckin' with you. Nice to meet you guys."

With all introductions made, if some a bit more grudging than others, immediately all fell in a relatively normal conversation that three of them didn't understand.

"So are you on tonight?" Like his sister, Jude began to mesh his speaking with signing, yet his was a great deal slower.

"Yeah. I'm thinking Janis?"

"I thought you were going to do Joan?"

'You should try Fiona.' Holly put in, leaning slightly over the table, not even noticing that her hair had slipped over her shoulder and into her glass of Coke. With a bitten back snicker, Connor reached a hand over and pulled it out.

"Wha'…the fuck are ye guys talkin' 'bout?" Murphy finally spoke up, his forgotten cigarette accumulating a long, drooping log of ash that was crumbling on the table.

"Trying to figure out what Pip should sing tonight. You got a line up of, what, four? Five?"

"Just four tonight. I was thinking 'Crybaby', 'I Can't Stand the Rain', 'New York', and 'Universe & U.'

"Not bad. They're all in your vocal range."

"Hold up, ye're a singe'?" Connor butt in, waving a hand about for attention.

"Kinda. We always have Open Mic Night at the _Python_. I haven't sung in a few days, so my boss is starting to harp at me."

"Eh, does Flashytits have a double life, too? Secret life as a Candy or a Bambi?" Murphy smirked suggestively.

"Flashytits?" Jude spoken up, a brow raised.

"Lily." Pippin answered, her lips pressed together to keep from laughing.

"Oooooh." He drawled out, completely understanding. "Victims of the cleavage, eh?"

"Jaysus, we practically needed a fuckin' rope te get out alive."

"Ye an' yer stupid, fuckin' rope." Murphy murmured as he crushed the end of his stubby cigarette. It was just as soon as these soft words left his lips did the both of them suddenly look to each other as thought they had been electrocuted.

"Oh, shi'!" Connor cried.

"Wha' time is it?" Murphy demanded.

"Uh…'bout eight-thirty, I think." Jude informed with a puzzled tone, turning his wrist over to glance down at his watch.

"Why, what's wrong?" Pippin asked, a small line forming between her brows in her confusion. The boys barely got out what it was they were late for as they scrambled over each other to fight out of the booth. Snatching their coats, they just left four very confused people behind without a second thought.


	4. In Which Rocco Goes Banana Sandwich

_Heaven help me for the way I am_

_Save me from these evil deeds before I get them done_

_I know tomorrow brings the consequence at hand_

_But I keep livin' this day_

_Like the next will never come_

**~Criminal, by Fiona Apple~**

Murphy stared at the phone as though this alone could bring it to life, gnawing on his nails like a starving dog devours a steak. Beside him, Connor focused intently on the magazine he held, his hazel eyes vacant despite them drinking up the print.

Rocco, what a fucking idiot. As much as he loved the bastard, he wanted to punch a hole through his thick skull. How much screaming could their lungs allow before it was made clear the Russians had all been a set up? How much shaking, begging, insulting had to happen before that fucking idiot understood he had been stabbed in the back? Murphy passed a hand over his anxious face, which quickly came to life as the phone chirped.

"Hello?" He answered brusquely. Connor, so used to his brother's abrasive attitude and quick temper when situations like this arose, wasn't even startled. He was the image of perfect serenity where Murphy was near to ripping his hair out.

"_Murph."_

He let out a pent-up breath, his tone softening. "Hey, Roc, you okay?"

"_Anybody call for me?"_

"Nah, man, ye sure ye're okay?"

"_I'm fuckin' fine." _There was a short pause as Connor set down his magazine and Murphy gave a slight nod. _"Catch you on the flip side." _With that, the line went dead. He stared into the receiver, perplexed. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Glancing to Connor, Murphy slammed the phone down onto the cradle. Not even a moment later the door swung open, Donna at the forefront as both she and Rayvie swaggered in, laughing in a manner that alerted the two they were intoxicated all to hell, and probably loaded on more than one narcotic. Both brothers sighed inwardly. This just wasn't their morning.

As the girls collapsed onto the couch in unison, dissolving into a fit of drunken giggles, Connor could feel his lip curl back in disgust, and Murphy merely hid his face in his palm as his elbow was brought up onto the table. He could easily count over ten things that he'd rather be doing, one of them sticking his lit cigarette in his own eye. Maybe even pick up what pieces of the cat were left from last night's all too memorable accident. Thinking back on that had his head turning to glance at the wall the poor creature had been detonated against; they had done a rather shoddy job cleaning up, for the cracked and peeling wallpaper was stained a distinct shade of pink, and an advertisement had been torn from the magazine Connor was currently reading to be taped half-heartedly over the bullet hole. Of course, they had all guessed Donna would be too high or drunk to notice, given she came back at all. And as usual, they were correct.

Releasing a sigh, he ran a thumb over the yellowed tip of the filter before setting it to his lips once more. This had all better be fucking worth it.

"Talked te Pip lately?" Connor murmured, rubbing his temple with the fingertips that were holding his head up. Glancing at his brother, Murphy fought back a smile, however small and strained it might have been.

"Tryin' te cheer me up?"

"I know how ye get when she's mentioned." Connor said lightly as he turned a page, hand returning to cradle his jaw. With a shake of his head, Murphy's previously restrained smile now pushing through, he flicked a lump of ash onto a piece of stone cold, half eaten pizza.

"Fuck off." He deadpanned.

"Did'ja talk te 'er or not?"

"Yeah. Said she had the day off so she was probably jus' goin' te run 'round. Go te 'er usual places." Connor merely lifted a brow in question, a simple gesture that pressed his brother for more information. "Library…this café called _Diva_…some deli she has lunch at all the time. Just te name a few."

"Do I even want te know how _you _know tha' much 'bout a g'arl ye only jus' recently met?" With a quizzical brow, Connor smirked, his eyes hooded as though in boredom.

"We talk on the phone." Murphy snapped, his face dark as he scowled.

"Since when did ye start retainin' inf'ermation so well?"

"Would'ja get off me arse, already? Jaysus, what are ye? Jessica fuckin' Fletcher all a sudden?" As his voice climbed in volume, Murphy's mannerisms became much more exaggerated. The first sign of an oncoming tantrum. Even still, he couldn't help but want to push his volatile twin a bit more over the edge. It was all in good fun, after all.

"Well, if yer as obsessed with Angela Lansbury as ye are wit' Miss Norah Maxine, should I say yes?" Rather than response with the classics of "fuck you" "fuck off" or "shut the fuck up", Murphy merely sent a booted foot into Connor's thigh, his scowl dark and stormy. "Ow! Okay! Okay! Jaysus." Connor quickly backpedaled, lifting a hand in surrender before quickly finding a different subject to transition into. "Alright, cool it. Wha'd she say 'bout us takin' off last night?"

Though still he look miffed, Murphy noticeably calmed in overall demeanor. Honestly, the boy was as moody and ever-changing as the Irish springtime. "She didn' pry actually. She figured we was jus' late fer somet'in' or another. They did find it a li'l weird when Roc left, though. Took off 'bout fifteen minutes after we did."

"They t'ought _tha' _was weird? We practically ran over p'aple tryin' te get outta the place." If Pippin's sense of reality was as skewed as his brother's, maybe they really were perfect for each other.

"Well, he was actin' a bit jumpy 'fore he left. I'm guessin' he was nervous 'bout his assignment."

Connor made a thoughtful noise, flipping the page of his magazine as his attention returned to it. "Aye."

They were quiet for a few minutes, pondering over the events that had unfolded yesterday, neither looking at the other. Finally, Connor glanced back up at Murphy with an amused expression. "'er brother and sister are definitely interestin'."

"I think 'er brother's a fuckin' cunt."

"Bravo. How long did'ja have te keep the peace?" Connor chuckled, replacing his magazine with a cigarette of his own and stealing Murphy's Zippo to light it.

"God, I tried not sayin' anythin'."

"Ye actually did a fairly good job. Quite proud o' ye, Murph."

"Was I too obvious?"

"Nope." He paused, frowning as he took a decent drag. "Well, fer the most part." Exhaling straight up into the air, he flicked away excess ash and shrugged. "I like 'im though."

"_**How**_**?"**

"I t'ink he's okay. Bit o' a queen, bu' okay."

"What part o' _fuckin' cunt _are ye not understandin'?" Murphy emphasized, slowly to make his sibling comprehend.

"I think he was jus' messin' wit' ye, Murph."

"Yeah, well, it wasn' funny." He growled in response, his lip near to curling over his teeth.

"Ye wouldn' o' done shit if Pip or Holly was the one who cracked tha' joke." Connor accused, his voice countering his brother's as it remained mild.

"Pip's our friend, and Holly don' even speak. He hadn' even introduced 'imself, yet. _And_ he called Pip fat. Tha' shit don' fly wit' me."

Connor sighed, shaking his head. There were so many ways they _weren't_ alike. He was fair in every way compared to his hot head twin; fair in features, fair in temper, and fair in reasoning. Apparently, fair in judgment was yet another to chalk up on that list. "Why don' ye call Pip later and hang ou' wit' 'er." He suggested off-handedly, casually.

"We ain' killin' any mothe'fuckers tonight?"

"Don' matter. Ye need te get laid."

"Oh, fuck off, Connor. It ain' like tha' and ye know it. 'Sides, we got shit te do now."

"Yeah, well, at least I can still get laid, even wit' this shit te do."

"I don' like 'er like tha'. She's just a friend." Murphy grumbled, sounding more like a petulant child being denied a toy.

"We've known 'er, like, a week. Perfect time fer fuckin'."

"Connor, I ain' fuckin' 'er."

"…So ye're never gonna tell 'er ye like 'er, eh?"

He sighed, loud enough that his voice was carried with it. Holding his cigarette aloft, he leaned back in his chair, his brows lifted as he considered that for the briefest moment. "Nope."

Connor snorted. "Least acknowledge ye're a fuckin' pussy."

In retaliation, Murphy tossed an emptied beer can at Connor's head, his eyes narrow and his lips twisted to fight off a smile. Ducking away from it, he countered with a swipe of his magazine, snickering.

"Fuckin' shut up."

* * *

Rocco wasn't thinking as he pulled that trigger. Then again, Rocco wasn't renowned for his ability to think; all that passed through his mind was the desire to get even. To make it clear he wasn't a simple package boy to be picked off for convenience. God, Connor and Murphy were right.

They sold him out. So he'd paint the walls with their fucking brains.

Yeah, he was the Funny Man. Oh-so funny, a crack-up, always good for a laugh. Well, the motherfuckers could laugh in Hell. He shot those tweaked out fucks with rage burning his throat and lungs, with a big, fat smile on his face. With the second shot his heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings, and his darting eyes found that fat fuck bartender, Sal, next. Backing into the bottles lined along the bar, he held his hands up in surrender, babbling and begging for him to be spared. Rocco could barely understand English right now, so it was all meaningless nonsense to him.

Raising the gun to aim straight for his heart, his own mouth ran a mile a second as he fired away, watching the body unceremoniously fall to the ground, as though weighted with bricks. It wasn't enough for him though, and his adrenaline pushed for more. Leaning over the counter, he emptied the chambers into the lifeless being, pulling the trigger even after it began to click in protest.

"I'm funny! Funny! Funny! Funny! Funny!" He screamed hysterically, his mind completely lost. Hopping back from the bar, he whirled around, stashing the gun into is coat pocket, and began to suddenly panic, his wrath dissolving into fear. The room was silent after the deluge of bullets had ceased soaring, all save for Rocco's gradually shaking breaths. The smell of blood was thick in the air, and it drove his nerves to grating against each other. He reeked of it, just as the whole establishment reeked of it. Iron and salt mingled in his flared nostrils, and with a violent gag reflex, his stomach lurched. Jesus, what had he done?

Everything was a blur to him; the bodies sprawled in grotesque angles across the floor and in the booth, the blood that pooled around them and stained the dingy tile floor, but in his hazy vision he managed to catch the distinct figure of two people left, one more a beacon to his sight than the other. All had run at the first shot, and he had been so sure he was alone when he unloaded all his lead into Sal. He failed to noticed the familiar face that was petrified with horror and shock, the eyes that were too bright.

Catching a flash of tussled auburn and sleek, silver blonde hair, his eyes finally stilled as they absorbed the sight of Pippin and Holly, pressed against the wall that their booth jutted out from. Pippin's legs curled up to press against her chest and make her appear even smaller, Holly was sitting properly to face her. She must not have been paying any attention, for she looked between the both of them with a mildly puzzled expression. Of course, she hadn't heard either of the shots, so her attention hadn't been brought to it.

Pippin, on the other hand, seemed as hyper aware of the situation as himself. Half of her face was hidden behind a book, her shining brown eyes peeking out over the top behind her horn-rimmed glasses. Though they only stared at each other for a few seconds, time moved sluggishly. But as her book slowly lowered, the sight of her parted, quivering lips was enough to splash some cold water onto his brain.

"What the fuck are you two doin' here?" He screamed, his arms flailing wildly. Both girls jumped for completely dissimilar reasons.

"We were just-" Pippin began, unconsciously pushing her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose.

"Listen to me, if you tell anybody what you just saw, I'll fuckin' blow your brains out, you got that?" He cut in, his voice trembling. Swooping forward to kneel before her, he stuck his gun in her face as he sprayed it with spit. She carefully extracted the glasses from her face and rubbed the hem of her t-shirt into the lenses, clearing away the spots of spittle. She didn't flinch away, but just watched him with those big doe eyes as she replaced her spectacles. Holly, on the other hand, screamed in a strange, pitchy way, pressing herself against the wall as though trying to merge with it.

"You hear me? I will kill you."

"Rocco…get that gun out of my face, and settle down. You're scaring my sister." She murmured softly, calmly, never breaking the gaze as she reached a hand out to hold Holly's. He began to panic again, his breathing picking back up as he shoved the gun back into its original hiding place.

"S-sorry." He whimpered. And without a single glance back, he ran the hell out of there.

What had he done? God, what had he done?

They were going to fucking kill him for this.

* * *

"Those rat fucks!" Rocco swore, power-walking as his bag skimmed across the pavement. "All of 'em were laughin' at me, man."

"Ye, well, ye sure ye killed 'em, Roc?" Murphy piped up as he followed, his own bag slung over his shoulder.

"Fuckin' A right I did. Had a goddamn turkey shoot over there!" He replied, pushing himself through the gate.

"Listen, Roc, did anybody see ye?" Connor asked, hefting what remained of the rope as he rounded the front of the car and threw the driver side door open. Slamming his arms down onto the top of the car, Rocco buried his face in the circle they made.

"Fuck, man, I might as well have gone around postin' flyers. Right out in public, man." He wept tearlessly, but began to calm as he felt Murphy's arm across around his shoulders, a strong hand giving his upper arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Liberatin', isn' it?" He said brightly, opening his own door after a pat to his back.

"Let's fuckin' go!" Connor cried out. Ducking into the car as Murphy held the door for him, Rocco rolled that thought around in his hectic mind.

"You know, it is a bit." He admitted feebly.

"Yeah, well, I'm real glad ye got yer kicks, Roc. Now what do ye s'pose we're s'posed te do 'bout this?"

"Fuck if I know, Connor. I just snapped. I didn't know what I was doin'." Adjusting himself to sit comfortably in the back seat, his voice began to break again.

"Hey, don' worry 'bout it, Roc. Everythin's gonna be alright." Murphy soothed, snapped his seat belt in place.

"That's not even the worst fuckin' part!" He protested.

"Serious? What else could ye have done te make it any worse?" Connor inquired, his lilting voice pitched higher. Really, he was almost amused at the absurdity of all of this. Almost.

"Those girls were fuckin' there, man."

"What g'arls?" Murphy muttered, his brows meeting in a bemused frown.

"The redhead with the big tits. The one Murph's got a Jones for. And that deaf blonde, too."

"Wha', ye mean Pip an' Holly?" He replied, an edge creeping into his voice as he turned to regard Rocco with wide blue eyes.

"Yeah, them. I didn't even see 'em comin' in. Totally walked right past. Pip saw everything. Start to fuckin' finish. All Holly saw was me-" He stopped, carefully analyzing his unspoken words. If he told Murphy he had pulled a gun on that girl, he was fucking meat. Quickly he amended. "All she saw was me shoot that fat fuck bartender."

"Did they recognize ye?" Connor asked, deadly serious as he applied even more gas, his turns sharper than necessary. Gone was his morbid amusement.

"Course they fuckin' did!"

"Fuck!" Murphy snapped, bringing a fist down onto the arm rest. Rocco's face sank into his palms once again.

"I'm so fuckin' sorry, Murph. I didn't mean for them to get involved."

There was a brief pause as he took deep, even breaths, his mind full of jumbled, blurry shapes. With a long sigh, he scrubbed a nervous hand through his unkempt hair. "Nah. Nah, s'alright, Roc. S'alright. I know ye didn'." His voice was soft and calm once again, however forced.

"What're we gonna do? We can' have 'em goin' te the police." Connor cut in gently, shooting a quick glance to his brother. Murphy was quiet for a moment, a hand cupped over mouth and chin as he contemplated. It was true, they couldn't have them talking to anyone, but that wasn't Pippin's style, and Holly would do whatever her sister wanted. She wasn't a rat like that foul-tempered friend of hers, and she certainly wasn't one to flake out on them.

"Nah. Pip wouldn' do that. She might be mad at us fer not tellin' her, but she certainly wouldn' tell on us." Murphy concluded at last, statement firm however softly spoken. Pippin was always soft when painted in the picture of Murphy's words.

"Wha' 'bout Holly?"

"She'll do wha'ever Pippin tells 'er. Plus, she's got a kid. She can' afford te go tellin' on us." The memory of the tiny blonde angel resurfaced, and his heart was seized in a cold grip. He felt sick mentioning such an innocent-looking child in the midst of this particular conversation.

"How the fuck do you know that? You hardly know the bitch! For all we know, she could be singing like a fuckin' canary right now!" Rocco wailed, slapping his hand on both the driver and passenger seat's shoulders.

"Hey, watch who ye're callin' a bitch." Murphy said mildly, though the threat was clear enough when he lifted a single finger up in warning.

"She's a good, honest g'arl, Roc. A little flighty an' possibly mad, but good." Connor added. Instantly, all three fell silent.

Rocco let his head drop forward, heaving a sigh of defeat. Passing a hand through his shaggy hair, he breathed in deeply, trying his might to calm himself. "Alright. Say she doesn't rat on us. What the fuck are we supposed to do with her?" Both brothers shrugged, their expressions bemused.

"Nothin'. She doesn' tell, then wha's the issue?" Murphy supplied, glancing back at a dumbfounded Rocco.

"Use your fuckin' brain, Murph!" With a swift slap to the back of his head, he continued. "I don't know if this bit- this chick is high up on the intellectual food chain or not, but once the news starts going off that those fucks were small fry mafia, even a fuckin' moron can guess you guys are the Saints now."

"Well, no fuckin' shit, Sherlock. Tomorrow we work on colors an' numbers." He retorted, fishing out a cigarette and cracking the window open as a pale cloud lifted from the embers.

"Alrigh', alrigh', the both of ye, shut yer fuckin' mouths. Knowing Pip, she's probably havin' a good ol' laugh 'bout it. And it's no' like she didn' have any clues te begin with. I'm placin' me money on the possibility she already kind of knew."

"Hope she's not pissed, though." As soon as those words left Murphy's lips, the car came to a screeching halt as two hands were slammed down onto the hood of the car, the figure of a girl standing in their path, hunched over in an almost predatory way. Her long auburn hair framed a face that held flashing, narrow eyes, and judging by how wind-tossed it looked, she had done quite a bit of running to find them. Upon the sidewalk stood her weeping sister, face twisted and distorted as more tears came streaming down her perfect, porcelain cheeks.

"If I don't get any answers in the next five seconds, I'm going to rip off all of your dicks and use them to decorate my mantel!" Pippin snarled, her glasses slipping further down her nose.

All three men sat still as death as their eyes widened to roughly the size of diner plates. Falling back into their seats, they just gawked at her. Finally, Murphy slowly turned his head to hold a long stare at the side of his brother's face, quite suddenly delivering a sharp smack to it.

"She's probably havin' a good ol' laugh 'bout it, eh? Ye're a fuckin' eejit."


	5. In Which the Clusterfuck Begins

_Dream _

_Send me a sign, turn back the clock _

_Give me some time, I need to break out _

_And make a new name, let's open our eyes _

_To the brand new day_

_It's a brand new day_

**~Brand New Day, by Ryan Star~**

"So," Pippin began with a strained calm, her voice somehow made even darker with the softer volume, "I guess let's start with the most pressing question; why the fuck are you shooting people in broad fucking daylight?"

Rocco cringed, sinking back in his seat as her dead stare bore into him, her glasses magnifying the eyes behind them and making it all the more impossible to tear his gaze away. Drawn in like a mouse to snake, he watched as her brown eyes, uncharacteristically flat orbs set in an unfathomable visage, gave him release only when she finally blinked. Her face was unreadable, her thoughts blank pages of an unwritten book that rustled in a strong gust.

He found himself edging away a bit more, somewhat relieved that Holly was not only dividing them, but had all of her weight thrown on top of her sister to hold her back, just in case the thoughts churning were indeed homicidal. With her blonde head tucked up beneath Pippin's stationary jaw, her face buried in her collar bone, and her entire body curled up into a tiny ball as it was propped against the famously substantial torso, Holly sobbed loudly and bitterly. The worn, flannel button-down failed to muffle her ridiculously noisy weeping, but it did well to soak up tears and the contents of a running nose. A single arm was wrapped around her trembling shoulders to press her in close, the hand that ran up and down her back making a soft shuffling noise that could only be caused from tough, callused flesh.

"Is she goin' te be okay?" Murphy inquired tentatively, glancing back at the pair with both caution and guilt lurking in his storm blue eyes. Connor kept his eyes firmly on the road, however tempted he was to turn back and offer his own brand of comfort to the sobbing girl. His face was held tightly, jaw clenched as the muscles bulged under strain. He couldn't take much more of it; not only was it heart-breaking to hear, but it was dreadfully annoying, and really something they didn't need at the moment.

Pippin nodded solemnly in response to Murphy's query. "She doesn't know how loud she is when she cries. No volume control." Pulling her back a bit, her free hand lifting the older girl's chin a trifle, Pippin began to sign one-handed. Rocco was glad Holly was turned away from him, because judging from the forcefully cowed pain that struck a light in her sister's previously dark, dangerous eyes, he was sure it was something that could push his fragile sanity over the edge. As Pippin's hand lowered, Holly instantly quieted, now only emitting fractured humming and short intakes of air.

Releasing a long sigh of resignation, Pippin pulled her back in to mould against every curve of her side and front, touching up the comfort with slow rocking. Bringing her other arm across, she exchanged it for the one strapped against Holly's shoulders to wrap it around her head laterally. With a gentle hand, she stroked the bound, silver tresses that glimmered in the sporadically flashing sunlight, her cheek pressing into the fair brow as her softened eyes disappeared behind heavy, lavender-tinted lids.

"You explain to me what happened. I'll try to shut her up." She murmured softly. As Murphy and Rocco exchanged a wary gaze, the deafening silence that had filled the car dispersed when Pippin's gentle humming came to replace it. To their puzzled surprise, Holly's calm gradually took over. All that was produced from her was sniffling, plus the occasional, staccato-like gasps.

"How does she-" Murphy began, his brows knitting together in bewilderment.

"Vibrations." Was Pippin's clipped reply.

Falling back into quiet, it was Rocco's turn to break it with a long, heavy sigh. "I can't really…Well…listen, I didn't see you guys in there. If I knew, I-"

"You wouldn't have shot them?" She snorted dryly, a single eye cracking open to regard him with burning skepticism. "Well, thank you, Rocco, for thinking about our feelings before you consider homicidal killing sprees." She replied tersely, still petting Holly's ponytail and smoothing back the long bangs that framed her pale cheeks.

"Pip, give the guy a break. Ye don' even know wha' the fuck's goin' on, so before ye start cluckin' yer tongue and pointing' fin'gars, I suggest ye shut it and listen." Connor suddenly barked, rolling to a stop as the traffic light flashed red. Murphy's lips formed a hard line as he glanced at his brother disparagingly, but since this failed to grab Connor's notice, his own returned to the girls.

"Alright then, enlighten me." Pippin returned coolly, her reflection miming Murphy's expression as she stared down at Connor in the rearview mirror.

Rocco cleared his throat nervously as he scrubbed a hand through his shaggy brown hair, now a protective curtain around his face. "I…" He trailed away, voice quivering before he sighed in defeat, his hands dropping with a shake of his head. "One of you guys do it. I'm spent."

Murphy didn't miss a single beat. Hoisting himself up in his seat, he just nearly turned around in it completely. As his eyes found Pippin's, he did well to ignore the electric current that passed through his body once they locked; he couldn't quite decide if that was a direct correlation of his reluctant attraction, or the fact that she looked absolutely dangerous at the moment. It was hard to do when one was wearing big horn-rimmed glasses, a flannel button-down that was probably two sizes too big, and handmade kandi bracelets that coated your entire left wrist, but she somehow managed it.

He summoned his manhood and shot straight into clarification. "Rocco's the package boy fer the Yakavetta family. Ye see tha' news report 'bout the Copley Plaza las' nigh'?" When Pippin replied with a bow of her head, he continued. "He was told it was gonna be his big break, but it was actually a set up te have 'im whacked off. He went te the Lakeview te find some answers, they were confirmed, and he went ape-shit an' shot the motherfuckers."

"The bartender, too?" She asked with an arched brow.

"The bartender, too."

"So those guys were gansters." Pippin affirmed with yet another nod, fitting this story with the appropriate pieces.

"Kinda. They were just a couple of peon fucks." Rocco mumbled, rubbing his nape awkwardly. "Sal was in on it. I just kinda…went crazy on him."

"Clearly." She deadpanned.

"Pip, seriously, lighten the fuck up. Ye're lucky we're even tellin' ye any o' this in the firs' place." Connor grumbled. Honestly, for someone who was in no place to be judgmental, she didn't fail to deliver.

Pursing her lips, Pippin lowered her head so that she could peer down into the distressed face of her softly sniffling sibling, whose head tilted up at the sudden absence of the warm cheek. As they held a long, understanding stare, saying or signing nothing, a slow, reluctant smile upon Pippin's lips broke the spell. "Alright, Connor. I'm sorry. I'll listen." She said in a low voice, hugging Holly even closer, as though she were trying to merge them together into a single entity. Though, given what just happened, it was probable that was the case.

'_They ain' no different than me an' Connor.' _Murphy's thoughts were but a murmur as he closely observed the pair through narrowed eyes, his teeth worrying his lower lip, fascination dominating panic. The age difference between them was great, yet the way they communicated, the way they both countered and mimicked each other's demeanor, it really wasn't any different than the relationship he and his own brother shared. If he hadn't already been aware, it would have been very difficult deciding who the elder truly was - in a way, they were much like twins themselves. They just seemed to know, just seemed to fill in the gaps if the other's thoughts had any. They fed from each other's knowledge and experiences, and even provided a substitute should one lack something essential. The silent world that Holly was confined in, for example. Without Pippin, it was like a land of black inkblots staining white paper; flat, nothingness, a copy of a copy. But with the color of her sister's guidance, some semblance of beauty could reign.

However, that was where it was confusing. Though Holly was the elder sister that acted as the younger, there was something about her presence that made Pippin take up her ordained role. Yet when absent, Pippin was more or less buckwild, just as immature, if not more, than what was required of her. She was child-like, even naïve. To the general populace it could have misconstrued as rather disturbing, but to him it was something almost endearing. In fact, she rather reminded Murphy of an adventurous baby bird, uncaring if its wings were not yet ready to take flight.

With that sudden realization, he frowned, his memory beginning to replay in a flurry of images. All that was happening around him became muted to his senses, as though he had sunk into a black-and-white film with clumsy sound equipment.

That day they first met, in the clinic, she seemed a real oddball - skipping as her means of travel, conversing casually about unusual things with total strangers, the way she sat, the way she stared, even the way she spoke. It was as though there were just a couple of screws loose. Same with the very next day, when they had the serendipitous encounter at the café. True, she was a bit more grounded, it being her job and therefore a place where she had no choice but to behave, but still she had that unbending quirkiness to her. In every phone call and text message that followed, it never failed to rear its head, yet on the day Holly and Jude were introduced, she had been completely subdued. She almost seemed quite normal, save a few discrepancies here and there. It was as though Holly served as her anchor to normality, just as Pippin served as Holly's guardian and guide through the world of sound - a world she could and would never understand, but that her little sister was fluent in.

They protected each other, it was true, but they also complimented each other's flaws, keeping the scale of their character in perfect balance. And should that equilibrium be thrown due the absence or volatility of one, the other girl could quite possibly plummet into something akin to madness. So it was with this in mind he understood that Pippin's anger was stemmed directly from concern of Holly's fear and confusion, looking at the scene with a fresh outlook. After all, if Holly was unstable, Pippin was sure to follow.

It was all so clear now, he could've kicked himself.

"What are you staring at?" Pippin's deep, husky voice broke the barrier of his contemplation, dissolving it into pure mist as he crashed back into reality. As a shade of rose dusted across his nose and cheeks, he realized that he had been gawking at her the entire time he was thinking. The truly embarrassing thing about it was it had not been her **face** that met his vacant stare. Accidental or not, the fact he ogled her at this particular time couldn't have left a good mark on his track record. Before he could invoke her already delicate wrath, which looked to be quickly rising judging from the flash in her steely eyes, Murphy quickly diverted her.

"Pip, will ye translate fer me?" He pressed, drawing her attention from her offense. With a long, probing stare, brown clashing against blue, she surrendered a slow nod before gently pushing Holly up into a proper sitting position. After a few pathetic, whimpering sniffles, she passed the back of her hand over the underside of her nose, her sleet blue eyes finding Murphy's. As Pippin lifted her chin and turned it to face her, the tears that were slowly drying on her entire cheek caught the sun in such a way that it actually shimmered like fish scales.

"Those men tha' Roc killed were bad men, Holly. They was part o' the mafia. Roc did a good t'ing getting' rid o' 'em, okay? Ye got not'in' te be 'fraid of." Murphy said, watching Pippin despite the fact he was communicating with the fairer sibling. It could have been because she was fascinating to study when she sighed, or perhaps it was because Holly was just too sad a sight to focus on for too long. Watching her cry was like enduring the sight of an angel being broken.

Where Pippin left off, Holly took up, her shining face twisted in distress as her signing became frantic. All the while, the auburn-haired girl beside her watched with a cool, level gaze. The same gaze that had frozen Rocco in place after his empty, maniacal threat back at the deli. Watching it now, that sequence of events playing back over and over again relentlessly, Rocco flinched away. Drawing his attention to the streaks of colors that flashed by the car, he forced himself to think of anything else.

"She says, 'I can understand why they should have been dealt with the way they were, but that doesn't make it any less wrong. They were still people. What if they were fathers, or husbands? Sons, brothers, uncles? Even if they were bad men, they had a family that still loved them, and in killing them, he killed those innocent families.'" The silence that ensnared the occupants of the car was as deafening as a clap of thunder.

Glancing to Connor, who remained unbending in his decision to take his eyes from the road, Murphy sighed. "Pip? Wha' do ye t'ink?" He inquired softly, fearing her reaction worst of all.

Wait. The churning of gears in his mind slowed, and with an inward frown, he considered that. Why **should** he care what she thought? He was doing as God ordered, doing the entire world a favor. He was cleaning the filth it had left in its wake of terror and hatred. He was doing something incredible here. What did it matter if a single girl disapproved or not. Still, he couldn't help but be a slight worried. After all, there was clearly something about this redheaded wench that just captured his intrigue, and since that was as difficult a task as any that had been given to Psyche, perhaps she **was** something to fear. So then, which was it? Did it matter, or did it not matter? Lacing all of these incomplete bridges together, he began to reflect heavily.

As his main priority was to serve God, and God had charged him with the cleansing of all evil, he in a way was the mission itself. So if she disapproved of the mission, then she disapproved of him, and if she disapproved of him, then…

His brain was starting to hurt now.

"Murphy." At the summons, he lifted his pounding head, flashing lights dancing over his vision to bleach the sight of Pippin's face with a pileup of afterimages. She was pensive a moment, looking to be fitting puzzle pieces in that enigma she called a brain. "You killed all of those men last night. You and Connor." Murphy nodded, deciding to just take this journey with her rather than fight it. "You guys are the Saints." It wasn't directed as a question. In fact, it was more firm a statement than any she had ever conjured in the time they had known her.

"Yeah." He murmured, taking in every line, curvature, and detail of her delicate face, dissecting the changes in her expression.

"I thought so. I know what a man looks likes when he's on a mission."

It was at last Connor's turn to speak up. Behind his shades, he scowled quizzically. "The fuck's tha' mean?"

"I don't know. It's just something I noticed with the two of you. It's almost like you guys were touched by faeries or something. Not all here, not all there." Pippin replied wistfully, her entire being now reflecting a completely different person. It was as though a switch had been flipped, sparking the light of her sunny, quirky nature to chase away the darkness of her anger. And Holly, radiating that untouchable, yet magnetic aura she had exuded when they first met her, seemed to be gradually adapting to the tension of the situation. Seating upright between Pippin and Rocco, one could no longer tell she had been crying, unless they noticed that her eyelids seemed a bit heavier than they typically were.

Both of the girls seemed to be themselves again, much to the relief of an observing Murphy.

"Well, ye would know, wouldn' ye, Pip?" Connor responded to Pippin's contemplative remark mildly, his own expression unchanging. But as he tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, a teasing smile entertained his lips. Pippin's was slow to form, but the end result had lifted the apple of her gently ruddy cheeks so high, her eyes nearly disappeared from sight.

"So…you guys are the Saints." She said through a sigh, as though she were committing it to memory. As Pippin fell back into her seat, Holly leaned back with her, fitting her head into the curve of her neck and shoulder again. Despite hardly anything being explained to her, she was completely fine. Murphy surmised this was the result of Pippin's own air becoming much more blithe. One's mood effected the other's when it came to these two. Even so, something niggled in the back of his head, giving him no relief of peace.

"Ye never told me wha' ye t'ought." He pointed out to her, carefully scrutinizing Pippin's bright face as they held each other in a long stare. Just as it had done with Connor, yet another grin swept over her lips.

"I want to do it, too."

There was a loud screech of tires as all were sent forward. With every seat belt singing a choir of loud thunks, those behind them were thrown back into their seat, knocking the breath out of all save the one who had orchestrated that entire episode. Pivoting sharply in his seat, an arm wrapping around the back of his head rest, Connor lowered his sunglasses to peer over the top of them, doing well to ignore the angry honks of neighboring drivers. A single brow lifted high, and his expression was the very epitome of incredulous.

"Are ye fuckin' kiddin' me? T'ink 'bout wha' ye're sayin'g here, Pip." He exclaimed, his brows, though lifted high in his shock, somehow drawn in together.

"Yeah, ye can' join us. Ye'll get ye're head blown off 'fore ye can even lift a gun." Murphy muttered with a pained frown, his hand buried in his dark hair as he rubbed the ache away from it.

"S'bad 'nough Roc's involved. We don' need ye gummin' up the works." Turning back to face the road, Connor applied the gas once more, resuming their journey.

"I won't get in the way. I swear. I'll do whatever it is you need me to do."

All three men couldn't help but be slightly disturbed at the ardency that kept creeping into her soft, raspy voice. When Murphy turned to frown at her, he could feel his face fall in utter disbelief, for upon her own was a look of such exigency, her brown eyes aflame with fervor, that he found himself wondering if all that sunshine and all those smiles were really as genuine as they seemed.

"Pip…ye realize tha' we _kill _p'aple, righ'?" He said slowly, his jaw becoming slightly more slack as this piece of news only seemed to excite her more. She didn't even blink. Just stared at him owlishly.

"I want to help you guys. Please." She begged, leaning forward in her intent, bringing her face startlingly close to his. The smell of hazelnut coffee and apple tarts floated off of her clothes, teasing his senses before the full force of her breath, carrying the strong, heady scent of cinnamon-flavored chewing gum, hit him straight in the mug. As her lips sealed, no longer pushing the spice into his nostrils, he could pick up the faint, yet unmistakable aroma of rusted iron beneath all of the sweetness. Blood, mostly likely trailing after her from the gruesome scene.

She was so close to him, he just have just closed the small distance with just one more inch forward. Just one, insignificant little inch…

"You're…you're just a kid…" Rocco suddenly shattered the veil that had closed over his head, his voice weak from astonishment. "What do want to go poppin' caps in assholes for?"

Moving away from Murphy, whose dismay was held back with tight reins, her round eyes turned onto Rocco now, and she was taciturn a moment as she seemed to be pondering that. "I don't know. I guess I just feel it's something I've always needed to do. I can't keep smiling forever. I can't keep pretending this world is all sunshine and rainbows. I mean…there's only so much I can do before I just want to… I don't know."

Murphy couldn't decide what was more strange; the fact that Pippin, upbeat, cheerful, happy-go-lucky Pippin, wanted to empty a gun full of lead into a complete stranger, or that Holly, who couldn't possibly know what was going on or the subject of their conversation, now looked just as concerned as themselves. She sat still as a marble statue, her hands clasped rigidly in her lap, her glacier blue eyes fixed firmly upon them. The only bit of movement that stirred her was very slow blinking, and her long, silver bangs that fluttered in the wind that crept in through his open window.

'_The fuck?' _His thoughts whispered as he traced every line and slope that made her face whole, his brows knitting in a bemused frown. Unless, of course, the same thing that had happened previously was happening now. Murphy seriously underestimated these girls; their connection was something much deeper than even he and Connor had. It was as though they truly were two parts of the same person.

"Pip, ye're…ye can' join us. Jus' keep our secret, alrigh'?" Connor nearly choked, his driving suddenly becoming a bit more jerky. As his brother turned his gaze on him, blue eyes fell upon the sight of milk white knuckles.

"But Connor-" She cut in to protest before suddenly silenced when Holly's hand abruptly snatched her wrist, clutching it like a steel strap. With Pippin's attention now captured, she didn't waste a moment as her hands flew up and blended into rapid sign language, her angelic face stern and diamond-hard. As her own hands merged into the silent conversation, Pippin's expression was one of puzzled annoyance. Both Rocco and Murphy watched, Connor glancing back in the rearview mirror every few seconds, trying to read into as much of the conversation as they could, utilizing the girls' ever-changing expressions as their guide.

As Connor couldn't see this silent exchange fully, he just decided to continue. "No buts. Ye can' join us, tha's final. 'Sides, ye got a job an' a family te concern yerself wit'. Ye got Holly te take care of, and friends tha' love an' worry 'bout ye. Ye got a life, Pip. Me an' these two fucks? We got not'in' te look forward te. We ain' got family here in the States, we ain' got wives or g'arlfriends, we ain' climbin' corporate ladders. S'jus' me an' 'im an' Roc now."

"…We don't have much of anyone either." She said in a voice so soft, so quiet, it was arguable she said anything at all. "Dad's off his rocker, and Jude's got more voices in his head than the fucking Wu-Tang Clan."

"Wha' 'bout yer Mam?" Murphy asked gently, his fascination mounting as he looked upon her sad, twisted grin. Offering a nonchalant shrug, she gazed down at the shimmering crown of Holly's head, a hand toying with the silvery ponytail.

"I only remember her from pictures. She and Holly are mirror images of each other." She murmured, combing the tips of her fingers through her sister's pale tresses. At the mentioning of her mother, Holly's eyes glazed over with an unfathomable emotion. Melancholy, recollection, Murphy couldn't have been too sure.

"So it's ye t'ree and yer Dah?"

"Yeah."

"All the more reason ye stay outta this." Connor cut in. "I mean, fuck, Pip, ain' it enough ye jus' **know**? Do ye really have te be involved even furt'er than tha'?"

Rather than respond right away, she sighed, eyes rolling heavenward. "Connor, please, drop this pretentious chivalry crap. If you don't want me to help because you'll think I'll get in the way, just say it." She answered, her tone making her words sound strange to the ear. Strange, because though the words themselves were aggressive and quite brutal, her tone was just as light and dreamy as her normal speaking voice. Like this was some kind of joke.

"Pip, I swear te Christ-"

"Just say it."

"I-" He sealed his lips before more could be spat out uncontrollably, his irritation hot as he released a breath through his nose. Why'd she have to be such an air-head all the time, but so damn perceptive when it mattered? "Alrigh'. Pip, I don' want ye fightin' wit' us 'cause I t'ink ye'd jus' drag us down and get us killed." He said carefully once his temper cooled and evened out.

She nodded, her grin satisfied. "See? That wasn't so bad, now, was it? We've accomplished quite a bit today." Pushing her glasses into place, she held up a hand and pantomimed writing notes upon it. "Now then, shall we talk about that gang rape?"

All save for a bewildered Connor and a blank-faced Holly turned to stare at her with utterly confused scowls.

"Huh?" The three choired in unison.

With a very toothy grin, her eyes so squinted they nearly disappeared once more, she giggled. "Just seeing if you were paying attention."

"Wait…" Rocco suddenly piped up, leaning over to peer up through his window. Moving forward herself, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as her hair shifted and fell over a single shoulder, Pippin followed his line of sight, her eyes falling upon a building with a bright pink, neon sign that flashed 'Sin Bin' at the forefront of a black and red awning. Smacking Connor's shoulder, his pale green eyes brightened.

"Connor, stop the car! Stop the fuckin' car, man." He cried out. Connordid as he was told and rolled to another stop, and all turned to acknowledge Rocco as his Italian mannerisms began to instantly kick in. Watching him with curious amusement, Pippin fell back into her seat, holding a frowning Holly against her. "Vincenzo, that **fat motherfucker**, Yakavetta's right hand. He's the one that set me up, then went around shootin' his mouth off, telling everybody I was as good as dead." He grumbled rapidly. Pointing to the building they were parked in front of, his excitement picking back up.

As Murphy, whose hand was now occupied with yet another cigarette, puffed out a smoke ring, he glanced back at Pippin, who watched Rocco's animated face eagerly. '_Well…'least she ain' traumatized.' _He thought dryly.

"Goes in there every Wednesday night, ten o' clock, jerks off to the same titty dancer. _Never_ misses." Rocco continued, eyes darting back and forth between Connor and Murphy as his words became more emphasized with his natural intensity.

"Yeah, so?" Murphy challenged, glancing back over to him.

"Yeah, so. So let's kill the motherfucker! I mean, what are you guys? Like, that's your new thing, right?" His voice rose in volume as his anxiety grew, his green eyes dancing with a vivid light. After a brief pause, Connor finally cut in imperturbably, lifting his hand from the frame of the window as he shook his head. As it was set upon his chin, he began to toy with the light stubble that was starting to come it.

"Yeah, well…"

"Aw, what the fuck? Who makes the cut? I mean, s'there a raffle or somethin'?"

"Well, te tell ye the truth, those firs' ones…they jus' sorta fell into our laps." Murphy admitted in a low voice, flicking a log of ash from the cigarette so that the red tip could burn through brightly.

"Well, whadda ya do?" Rocco solicited.

"We haven' really got a system o' decidin' who, Roc, it's, uh…" Connor trailed off, fingers parting from his chin as he actually considered that for the first time since, well, ever.

As Rocco glanced back and forth between the brothers, his lips parted as his eyes grew even brighter.

"Me! Me!" He cried out, gesturing enthusiastically to his own chest. "I'm the guy! I know everyone, their habits, who they hang out with, who they talk to…" He lifted his hand to start vigorously ticking off his list on his fingers. "I got phone numbers, address, I know who they're fuckin', I know where they live!" Finally he stopped as realization dawned on him. "We could kill _everyone_." He said breathlessly.

Yet another pause ate away time, and as Holly set a hand upon Rocco's shoulder to calm him, Pippin carefully scrutinized the twins' faces, gnawing on her bottom lip until it stood out a bright, poppy red. Murphy, meanwhile, turned his head to Connor, his half spent cigarette still held aloft outside the window. "So whadda ye t'ink?"

Rocco's eyes went from Murphy to Connor, his breath held. As all turned their attention to him now, a spotlight seemed to shine down upon the fairer man. Measuring his brother's question, he unconsciously groped at his stubble again.

"I'm strangely comfortable wit' it." He said at last, his brows quirking as his hands returned to the steering wheel and his foot urged acceleration.

"Whoo-hoo!" Pippin cried out jubilantly, throwing her arms up in the air. "I want pictures!" The car moved barely an inch forward before it jerked into another abrupt stop, and as every male occupant of the car slowly turned their heads to watch her with an expression of complete and total disbelief, she merely shrugged, her own face the epitome of innocence. "What? I think I want to scrapbook all of this."


	6. In Which Pip is Apparently the Queen

_I'm surprised that you've never been told before_

_That you're lovely_

_And you're precious_

_And that somebody wants you_

_I'm surprised that you've never been told before_

_That you're priceless_

_Yeah, you're holy_

_Even when you are not new_

**~F.N.T., by Semisonic~**

"Hey. Hey, man," Rocco was the first to speak as they left the room, Murphy and Connor trailing after into the dressing room. The words 'Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here' trailed after the fairer MacManus with the pull of the doorknob, the click of the lock signifying the end of their job.

Rocco turned and pushed his mask up away from his face, tufts of his brown hair peeking out from the eye holes. "You guys gotta teach me that prayer. That's some good shit, man." He said emphatically, watching as Murphy tucked his gun in the waistband of his denims and Connor stashed his own in the shoulder holster hidden within his peacoat.

"Cool it, Roc. It's a family prayer." Connor cut it, still fighting with the snap to keep his gun in place. "My father's father before him, so that's our shit."

"Oh, come on!" Rocco begged, drawing out the words like a petulant child. He was only silenced when Murphy's finger suddenly tapped his chest, and as he glanced down in natural reaction, his head was tipped up when the underside of his nose was flicked.

"Alright, le's get the fuck outta here. I say we get shit-faced." Connor murmured, buttoning down his coat once the gun was safely tucked away. "McGinty's ahoy."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." Murphy piped up, catching his brother's upper arm as he breezed past. "We were s'posed te go see Pip and Holly after, 'member? We promised." He urged, his deep blue eyes pleading. A condescending smirk touched up the corner of his lips, and Connor cocked his head just a slight to regard his brother with a dismissive gaze.

"C'mon, s'the least we can do after ye basically told 'er te fuck off." Murphy defended, feeling a presence shift beside him.

"It's not like we won't go, Murph. We're just making a fuckin' pit stop. Chill the fuck out." Rocco reassured him, clapping a hand to his shoulder and moving past the siblings to head out the door and return to the car.

"Aye, we will. After I pound down some shots firs'. And by the by, I didn' tell 'er te fuck off. Ye know I love tha' g'arl much as the next guy, but even ye're fuckwit head's gotta admit she'd jus' get in the way." Connor added, folding his mask neatly into fourths and stuffing it into his coat pocket. Rolling of his eyes, Murphy sighed in defeat, trailing after his twin with a slump of disappointment weighing his shoulders down. Just as before, Connor slid into the driver's side, and Murphy lagged behind as he settled into shotgun. Rocco scooted up in the back seat and rested his elbows upon the shoulders of both, lacing his fingers as he did so, and turned his head to pin Murphy down with a mocking, hooded stare.

"Dude, how fuckin' pussy whipped _are_ you? This chick's got you wound around her little fuckin' finger, man." He said, a chuckle woven through his words as he fished a cigarette from his coat pocket. Clasping the filter between dry lips, his Zippo was flicked open, and as he attempted to bring a flame to life, he growled after several fruitless clicks. "Fuck, anybody got a light?"

Turning, Murphy supplied the dancing flame with a stern glare on his face. As an orange glow filled the car, masks of firelight and shadows flickered over their countenances, making Murphy's all the more severe to look upon. "Shut the fuck up. I ain' pussy whipped. Ye gotta be gettin' pussy te be whipped by it." He mumbled, snapping his Zippo shut as he faced the front and dropped it in the cup holder, metal clashing against metal as it scraped the loose change that had nestled there. Connor brought the engine to life with the turn of his key and started forward, slipping from the parking lot like liquid shadow, smooth as an expert.

"Ye know, somehow, ye an' Pip managed te skip over tha' step. Seein' as tha's the best step, I'd say ye've been cheated. I t'ink ye should bring this te 'er attention." He said through a smirk, glancing over at his brother as it morphed into mockingly sweet innocence. As Murphy peeled the gloves from his hands, he peered up at Connor with a wrinkled nose and an arch to the corner of his upper lip before bringing one across his face in a light slap.

"How many times I gotta say it 'fore ye fuck off? I am not fuckin' the g'arl. For Christ's fuckin' sake." Murphy gestured irritably, his last curse muffled as he brought a hand to his mouth, turning his wrist to press his fingers against his lips. Behind him, Rocco snorted loudly and exhaled a bulbous cloud of pale smoke. With several agitated swipes to clear the toxic blue ghost, Murphy finally just rolled his window down, watching as thin streams were sucked through the sliver.

"Seriously, how hard can it be? 'Hey, Pip, I think you're hot. Will you please let me blow a load in you?' See? That's not hard."

Connor glanced back at his shaggy-haired friend in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, uh, I don' t'ink tha'd _blow_ over too well wit' 'er, Roc."

"Hey, you never know, she's kinda nuts. She's probably into all kinds of weird, fucked up shit, too, like chains and whips and shit like that. Think she ever gets freaky with those big-ass paws of hers, huh?" Waggling his thick, heavy brows suggestively, he meaningfully nudged Murphy hard in the shoulder. A scowl twisted his face, his scarlet cheeks nearly a shade puce in the darkness of the car, he fought his arm back with his own elbow.

"Sounds te me like ye're more interested in blowin' the load, Roc." Connor chortled, reaching over to pluck a cigarette from Murphy's breast pocket. As Murphy slapped a hand against his chest to catch Connor's hand, the filter was already at his mouth, and the Zippo was alive once more. Tossing the lighter back into the cup holder, Connor took a short drag before holding the stick between fore and middle finger and bringing the hand to the ten o'clock position of the steering wheel. With the whirring of gears, his window sank down, too.

"Fuck, after that druggie cunt, I'd take Raggedy fuckin' Ann." As Rocco paused for a long drag of his own, he laughed lightly, his smile shining against the backdrop of his dark beard. "But, nah. She's real cute, don't get me wrong, but she'd probably be waaaay better off with you, Murph. But the minute you drop her ass, well…" Rocco shrugged, grinning. "Free game."

"How noble 'o ye." Murphy spat in response, his voice a low grumble.

"Oh, c'mon, we're just fuckin' wit' ye. Chill the fuck out." Connor returned, a laugh threaded through his statement as he turned his attention back to the road. Rather than fire back one of his usual smart-ass remarks, Murphy just fell into silence, his lips pressed into a hard line as he stared straight ahead. "Hey, c'mon, Murph, we know ye not gonna do anyt'in' wit' Pip." Connor murmured light-heartedly after a moment, glancing back and forth between his brother and the road as he nudged him gently. "Now stop t'rowin' yer tantrums. They never worked 'fore, they certainly won' now."

Still Murphy made no motion to speak. He was practically drilling holes into the windshield with his blue-flame stare. A laugh rocking his shoulders, Connor reached over and lightly slapped Murphy's cheek, open-handed so that it made a distinct smack. This seemed to finally push what little bit of patience and calm Murphy managed to cling to, because he finally fired back with a few slaps of his own. As the two began to wrestle, Connor laughing hysterically and Murphy muttering a variety of curses in a variety of languages, the car began to veer out of their lane.

"Roc! Take the wheel!" Connor called out in between cackling, and without wasting a moment, the shaggy-haired Italian was behind the driver's seat and leaning over, handling the wheel with an expression of utter indifference. After all, he was so used to this bullshit.

Only when Murphy's cell phone came to life did the two finally stop. As the high-note ring filled the car, Connor was abruptly shoved back into his seat and the phone was pressed to Murphy's ear in an instant

"Shut it, it's Pip!" He cried out, waving his hand about for quiet. As Connor relieved Rocco of the steering wheel, and Rocco settled back into his seat, the desired silence took over before cut by Murphy's voice. "Hey, Pip." He greeted, voice forced casual and smooth. It became harder when he saw, in his peripheral vision, Rocco flicking an invisible whip, and Connor performing a lewd pantomime that involved spanking.

"_Hey, Murph. D'you guys whack the douche, yet?" _Her deep, easygoing voice answered laughingly. In the back, he could pick up the sound of more than one female voice.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, we actually jus' left. We're in the car. Who's tha' wit' ye?" Murphy inquired lightly, his expression set into a frown. As the words left his lips, he could see Connor's head turn toward him reflexively in his peripheral vision, sure his face mimicked his own.

"_Lily, Ellie, Jude, Rose, and Holly. Shaun won't get back from work until about two._" She answered promptly. As his frown deepened, Murphy began to sift through his memories of the auburn-haired girl and those she associated with, trying to fit names to faces.

Obviously he knew Holly and Jude. Hell, he still hated Jude. Rose, if he recalled correctly, was Holly's daughter, the little girl that had been hugging that enormous Irish Wolfhound in the picture she had shown them. Lily was Pippin's friend, the pretty waitress that had gotten in a huff after Connor told her she didn't have enough breasts to even pretend she had the set to reap a nice tip. Yet the names Ellie and Shaun didn't register an inkling.

"Who're Ellie and Shaun?"

"_Ellie's our third musketeer. Say hi, Ellie!_" She elaborated before screaming out suddenly, her voice distant as she was more than likely turning the phone away from her.

"_Hey, baby!_" Cried an even more distant reply. Pippin's giggling became louder and much more clear as the phone turned about face.

"_That's Ellie. Shaun is Holly's husband._"

"Whooooa. Wait a sec. Holly's got a husband?" Murphy repeated, dumbstruck. As his jaw fell open, the back of Connor's hand was sent into his arm with a sharp cuff to summon his attention. As he glanced over to acknowledge him, he saw that a quizzical frown, touched with just a dash of shock and disappointment, had taken residence on his brother's face. As Connor mouthed the words, 'What?', Murphy held up a single finger to call for silence. "Ye neve' told us she was married." He accused, his surprise carrying in his tone.

"_You never asked. Besides, you knew she had a baby. I figured that would indicate something._"

"Uh, Pip, they're plenty o' lasses tha' got themselves buns in the oven, bu' no bake' te pull 'em ou'."

"_Oooh, that is very nicely put._" She snorted in dry laughter, her praise bitingly sarcastic.

With a cocky smirk, he shrugged. "I do wha' I can."

"_Anyway. Get your asses over here. Chop, chop!_"

Murphy began to toy with the dark hair behind his ear, his fingertips traveling along his nape before one finally settled into his mouth. As the muted sound of teeth slicing through nail echoed in his head, he tore the sliver from his finger and spat it out. "Um…" He trailed off, considering what to say.

"_Murphy, get your finger out of your mouth._" She said firmly, sounding remarkably like his mother in this instance. And just like with his mother, his hand dropped to his lap instantly before he scowled in bewilderment.

"Wait, how the fuck-"

"_Please, your fingernails are bitten past the quick and white as a dead person. As a fellow nail biter, I know when someone's doing it. Now what is it you're avoiding telling me by sticking your hand halfway down your throat_?"

Damn, she was good.

"Uh, well, the boys an' me…we were actually t'inkin' o' stoppin' by McGinty's fer a quick'un. Te celebrate, ye know?" He ventured cautiously, testing the waters of her temper.

"_Oh. Okay, sure, just don't get pissed out of your heads. Although, you know we have plenty of booze over here. I'll even discount it_." The smile in her words was as clear as the image of her face in his mind. And just as he always did, he couldn't fight back the grin that crept up onto his lips. He didn't even have to see it anymore - just the mere sound of it was enough to do the trick.

"Discount, eh? Oh, how kind o' ye." He muttered, trying to cover himself by rolling his eyes. No dice, she seemed to hear the grin in his words just as well as he heard hers, for a throaty chuckle breathed into his ear the next moment.

"_Seriously, just come over. We have all the stuff Doc has and then some. We Evans' are just as deplorable and degenerate as you two. Well, two Evans' and a Coburn._" There was a very short pause as she made a thoughtful noise. "_You know, that sounds a lot like a really bad sitcom_."

"Well, ye've go' the fucked-in-the-head lead, a deaf p'arson, an' the fag, so, yeah, I'd say ye just' 'bout set up fer a sitcom."

"_You know what, I highly resent that. There is no need for name-calling in this vicinity, Mr. MacManus. Besides, we all know I'm much more than a fag._ _I_…" She paused dramatically, and he could just see her sweeping her arm across in an extravagant, thespian wave. "…_am a __**Queen**_!"

"_Dude, Pip, unless you want a purple face, stay the fuck still!_" He heard a distant, yet very annoyed female voice say.

"_Sorry, Lil_." Pippin mumbled, her laughter barely reigned in.

"The hell?" He summoned her attention back, arching a brow in curiosity. "Wha' 'bout a purple face?"

"_Off with your head! The Queen demands it_!" She cried lavishly once more, now fully focused on him again. In the background, he could hear a chorus of, "What the fuck?"

Murphy shook his head, his little finger lifting to dig the sleep out of the corner of his eye.

"Ye're a dork, Pip. Hold on, I'll ask 'em." Bringing the phone away from the side of his face, he cupped a hand over the receiver and laid his head back against the headrest, peering over at his sibling with lifted brows. "Pip says they got plenty o' booze ove' thar. Why don' we jus' get fucked up an' save our tab?"

Connor seemed to ponder that a moment as he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, flicked his left turn signal on as he did so. Merging into the adjacent lane and cutting the signal with a loud click, he shrugged. "Sounds good te me. Wha' 'bout ye, Roc?" He asked of his scruffy friend as he glanced up at the rearview mirror, finding pale green eyes.

Rocco returned the shrug, lips pursed. "I'm game. I owe that fuckin' place 'nough money as it is."

"So we're goin'?" Murphy asked a final time, glancing back and forth between the two, his neck craned back to get a better view of Rocco's face.

"Yeah. Where's she live?" Connor replied.

Returning the phone to his ear, he sighed. "Hey, we're on our way. I'mma give the phone te Connor so's ye can tell 'im where ye are, 'right?"

"_Sure_." She chirped, and with that, he relayed the phone, setting it in the flat of his brother's palm.

"Hey, Pip." Connor greeted brightly. Flicking a log of accumulated ash from his cigarette out the window, he chuckled at something before continuing. "Where ye at?"

A slow smile spreading across his lips, Murphy dug a fresh cigarette of his own from his pocket and lit it with a mastered gesture. Sighing a bloated smoke ring, he held the metal between fore and middle finger, flipping it first over then under each one so that the dull metal shimmered like a minnow in the light of the street lamps. As it hurdled his fingers, he gradually boosted the speed until his hand stumbled, and the lighter fell to his lap, scraping against the clasp of his belt.

"The hell you doin', Murph?" Rocco chuckled. Rather than glance back at him, Murphy simply took up his Zippo and tried again, this time holding it out a bit longer than before.

"Connor's better at it." He murmured before the filter of his cigarette touched his lips, eyes narrowed as he concentrated.

"Okay, so tha's no' too far from us. Alrigh'. Eh, wha's the name o' the apartments again?" Connor spoke up, snapping his fingers at Murphy, who lost his concentration and let the Zippo fall again. As he peeked over his wrist and the phone, he mouthed the words, 'Pen' to him. With a nod, the dark-haired MacManus hit the glove box and let it fall open before he rummaged through the cluttered contents. Pulling forth a fountain pen and a tore shred of paper, he lifted a knee slightly and looked expectantly to Connor. "'Kay. Clover Hill Apartments…buildin' eight…numbe' 1674... Tha' it?" He paused for a reply, and as Murphy scribbled down the last of the numbers, another laugh was pulled from him. "Yeah, yeah, I'll tell 'im…Yes…Alrigh', Pip…yes, I unde'stand ye're the Queen…"

Once again, Murphy just snorted with a shake of his head.

"Alrigh'…alrigh'…bye, Pip. Ye need te talk te Murph again? …'Kay, here ye go." As Connor rolled his eyes, an amused grin hooking the corner of his lips, he passed the phone back to his brother.

"Wha'?" Murphy snickered, tapping some ash away to free the red tip of his cigarette.

"_Off with your head_!" She roared, and before he could even register what she said, let alone produce a reply, the line went dead.

* * *

They knew this to be Pippin's apartment, never mind the brass numbers nailed into the bright red door. They knew, because only she would have more hanging and potted plants cluttered around her front door than a Home Depot could supply. As the three squeezed through the tiny jungle, Connor reached the door first, took up the brass knocker, and tapped it against the metal plate three times. There was a short pause as they all shifted their weight.

"Who is it?" A small, gurgling female voice screamed out from behind the door. It was slurred with improper emphasis on some consonants, and especially squeaky. Obviously the voice of a very small child.

"It's us!" Connor answered, a shallow line forming between his brows as he tried to understand why there would be a small girl in Pippin's house. Perhaps it was the wrong one?

"Liiiiiily! Us is at the door!" The little girl yelled, her voice fading as they assumed she was running off to go report the news.

His laughter muted, Murphy pressed a balled fist to his mouth, watching his sibling's bemused expression deepen. "S'Holly's daughter, man."

"Oh! Right. I knew tha'." Connor muttered.

The door before them swung upon with a long creak, and the vaguely familiar face of Lily stared at them all with bright eyes, her wildly curly brown hair framing cheeks as smooth and pale as alabaster. Dressed in a white scoop-neck t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, she seemed a great deal more lovely than she had when they had first met, and later offended, her back at _Café Python_. Probably because she wasn't trying to goad a fat tip out of them with her chest this time. With a light grin turning up the corner of her lips, she hung in the doorway, a cool breeze caressing her curls.

As they lowered their gaze, the sight of the little girl that had addressed them first met their eyes, and for just a moment they had all forgotten to blink. She was as gorgeous, maybe even more than Holly; her skin was as fair as an Easter lily, her slightly waving hair was the same white-gold as it fell to her chubby elbows, and her brilliant azure eyes were slightly darker than the glacial gray of her mother's. Her face was sweet-lipped and soft as it was pale, the two roses of pink blooming on her round cheeks almost identical to her aunt's. As she smiled at them, the could see that her baby teeth had only just settled, for they were still a bit too short. She was, quite frankly, the most beautiful child they had ever seen in their lives, even if she was wearing a Nine Inch Nails t-shirts that hung on her like a shapeless dress. She was the Botticelli angel where her mother was the Rembrandt.

"Hey, guys. C'mon in." Lily said, snapping them all back into reality. Before she could move away from the doorframe, the angelic child instantly turned and ducked around her, toddling away as the ragged ends of her long hair shimmered in the warm, buttery light of both dim lamps and candles that emanated the delicious scent of spiced apples. Mingling with it was a faint, yet acrid odor that they couldn't identify. Lily retreated, moving behind a chair pulled out in the middle of the room with a tiny table beside it, upon which was a clutter of bottles and a bowl with a brush sticking out of it. They simply lingered around the door, taking in the sights.

The apartment was very nice for being rather small. Though the walls were white, a menagerie of classic movie posters were scattered all over them, as well as surrealistic artwork by Michael Parkes and Thomas Barbèy. The couch and loveseat were a deep, egg-plant purple - the couch, turned to face the fair sized entertainment center pressed against the north wall, served as the divider of the living and dining room area, the loveseat, cattycorner to the couch as the armrests of both touched, parked in front of a small fireplace. Beneath them and the centerpiece glass coffee table was a large, cream-colored shag rug, and in the corner of the north and west walls was a stand-up lamp that cast the warm light. The one place there weren't pictures was a tall, cherry oak bookcase filled to the brim with titles they had never heard of. Pushed against the east wall in front of them was a long, thin, cherry oak Drexel table with a floral table runner, a stained glass lamp, a small stack of more books, and a glass bowl full of keys upon it. In the corners of the room, as well as to the left of the fireplace, hung crystals and wind chimes that sparkled and cast dancing flecks of silver light across the walls. In the very back, behind the dining area with a round cherry oak table set in the middle, was a small sun room with an enormous red beanbag chair, a duplicate of the bookcase in the living room, and a tall ficus in the furthest corner. A hall opened up the eastern wall, the wall coming from it blending into a bar that separated the living room and the kitchenette next to the dining area, and though they could only see a wide square of it, it was safe to assume it was just as tastefully decorated, even if it was bathed in fluorescent lighting.

It was so much nicer than either of their crummy, warehouse apartments, it made them shrink away even more.

"Hey, look out for the-" Called out a male voice, and from the shoulders up was the sight of Jude, framed in the open window of the bar, neck craned and finger pointing. Before he could finish his warning, Murphy was thrown back against the door, hit by something massive and warm. Releasing a startled yelp, time caught up with him after a few bewildered blinks, and when he finally managed to stop seeing stars he saw that the creature that pinned his shoulders to the door was not a person, but one of the biggest dogs ever spawned. It was the very same dog from the picture he had seen, from the long pink tongue that hung out the side of his widely grinning mouth, to the scruffy, coarse gray fur and limbs as long as tree branches. His huge brown eyes stared straight into Murphy's before his tongue was dragged across his face.

"Moose! Get down!" Jude said sharply, coming around the wall that boxed in the kitchenette. He hadn't changed much from before; his golden brown stubble had gotten a bit thicker on his chin and lip, and his golden hair, lighter than that upon his face, looked much straighter and brushed through as it hung down in this eyes. He wore roomy gray sweatpants and a black AC/DC t-shirt, as well as fluffy, panda houseshoes that threw them off just slightly.

Grabbing the Wolfhound by the scruff of his neck, Jude yanked him away from Murphy, throwing his leg back to push him away when he tried to close in again. With a sharp snap of his spindly fingers and a stern gaze, the dog took the hint and trotted away, replacing what affection he could have taken from Murphy with the affection he was now taking from a young black girl they didn't know, who sat upon the floor between the loveseat and coffee table.

She was as lovely as the company she kept, her mocha brown skin smooth and glowing flawlessly, her black hair straight and cut very short in the back, with long bangs swept of to the side and a big white flower pinned to the side of her head. Her dark brown eyes were enhanced with eyeliner that had been drawn on like cat eyes, and her lips were a brilliant, fire-engine red. Her figure was a perfect hourglass shape, tiny waist included, but her assets were indeed very impressive. In fact, the buttons of her pale pink blouse seemed to being straining as they struggled to hold together, and the white jeans she wore looked as though they had been spray painted on her legs. She rather reminded the trio of a retro pin-up model.

"Aw, don't be mean to 'im, Jude." She cooed, taking Moose's big, narrow head between her slim, perfectly manicured hands. Pushing out her carmine lips, she began to make kissing noises at the dog, who returned the love with a sneaky lick upside her face. As she scrunched it up and turned her head away, Jude snorted.

"Please. That beast is a big enough whore as it is." He grunted, turning back to face Murphy. "Dude, seriously, do you give off dog pheromones or something? How the hell do you not have a complex?" With a light smack to his face and a quick stir of his dark hair, Jude flashed a toothy smile before turning away to drop into the loveseat beside the black girl. As the two stared at each other, Jude gazing down as the girl peered up, their faces both held quiet smiles, but when Jude nudged his leg against her, she returned with a slap to his knee. It went back and forth with more frantic speed, and her expression began to break into a huge grin as he screwed up his own into weird, funny faces.

Connor and Rocco laughed along with them, but Murphy remained surly and stone-faced.

Glancing sidelong at his scowling brother, Connor snorted and rolled his eyes. Still, Murphy hated the man for no real reason, and Connor really couldn't figure out why. It couldn't have been because Jude was gay enough to have a six foot flame shoot out of his ass, and it wasn't like he was overtly rude to him that first meeting. It was all a good joke.

Leaning over for close confidence, he set a hand upon his shoulder, his warm breath filling Murphy's ear. "Behave yeself, alrigh'? He's only funnin' wit' ye, no matte' wha' ye may believe."

Rolling his lips in to press them into a hard, white line, Murphy rolled his eyes heavenward. "Connor…"

"Hey, welcome te courtin', Murph. Ye wan' the g'arl, ye gotta deal wit' the assholes o' the family." He sighed, patting his sibling's shoulder.

"Seriously, how do ye actually like tha' fuckfist?" Murphy whispered, shaking his head in defeat. Connor moved his hand from Murphy's shoulder with a shrug and an exaggerated half grin.

"He's funny."

Before he could retort, Murphy felt a small tug on his pant leg. Glancung down, the darling face of Holly's little daughter was turned up, her blue eyes dancing with a curious light. "I'm four. How old are you?" She asked, her voice high and sweet.

Gone was the resentment of Jude's rude comments, for he could feel the hardness in his face melt as he smiled down at her. Kneeling so that she didn't have to crane her neck to look up at him, he found himself struck silent once again from the angelic purity this child radiated. It was beings like her that had him and his brother destroying the evil that polluted this world. It was beings like her, her mother, and her aunt that had him risking his skin every night to purge all that was corrupt. And as his slow smile gradually stretched, he could feel a strange lifting within himself, as thought the burdens of what little guilt he had for doing the things he had done were swept away from his heart and mind. Presented with the proof of this little girl, given the ultimatum to fight even harder, he felt cleansed. Her face had been like the sweetest baptism, forgiving him of any and all sin. With a gentle sigh that released itself slowly, his smile pushed all the way through.

"I'm twenty-seven." He answered at last. The little girl was quiet for a moment, staring at him with luminescent eyes.

"That's old." She declared with mild emphasis, her eyelashes like feather dusters as she blinked rapidly. A laugh was summoned from all three men at her response.

"Eh? Well, I must be old, too. I'm the same age as him." Connor said, nudging his brother's thigh with a booted foot.

"Are you brothers?" She inquired, her head cocking slightly to the left. "Or are you boyfriends like what Uncle Jude has?"

There was a long, painful silence before it was cut clean in half with a variety of sounds, ranging from Jude and Ellie's hysterical laughter, Rocco's wheezing laughter and slow clapping, and the strangled sound both brothers released.

"Uh, no, Rosie, they're not boyfriends. They're brothers. See? They look alike." Jude said between giggles, his hand doing a half-assed job of covering his mouth.

"Oh. Okay." Rose said dismissively, turning to wander off to her own devices. Just as she did, who should suddenly appear from the hall but Pippin, her shining, wet hair a deep fuchsia, clad in jeans and a brilliant, highlighter yellow t-shirt with the words 'Frankie Say Relax' printed on the front in bold, black letters. As Rose toddled over to her, Pippin bent down suddenly at her mid-section, arms wrapping around the little girl's torso as she simultaneously swept her up and began to spin in circles. Rose's little feet dangling limply as they lifted.

"I gots me a munchkin! Raaaaawr!" Pippin growled in a deep, gravelly voice. With a trilling giggle, Rose buried her face in the crook of her aunt's shoulder. Pippin slowed to a stop and lowered the child, snapping back up to beam at the three. "Hi, losers." She greeted cheerfully, approaching them with outstretched arms. Encircling them around Connor's neck, pulling him in for a hug, she pecked a kiss on his cheek before moving to Rocco to do the same, who countered clumsily, his dark beard scraping a faint red mark on her cheek.

"Where's the booze you promised?" Rocco jabbed, still holding her upper arms.

"I liiiiied. There is no booze! It's all a trap, yar!" Pippin replied, impersonating your stereotypical 'pirate voice.' His pale green eyes rolling good-naturedly, he waved her off.

Moving to Murphy, she reeled in close before stopping suddenly, her expression highly amused as her smile toiled to stay in place. Rather than lift her arms to hug him, she just stood there with her struggling expression. He lifted a brow, waiting for her to say something. Or better yet, kiss him.

"Wha'?"

"Did I just hear my four-year-old niece ask if you and your brother were gay together?" She asked casually, as though this question were as commonplace as snow falling in the winter. There was a short pause as he tried not to linger on that thought.

"…Yes. Yes, ye did." He said with some difficulty, and he could see in his peripheral vision a tremor run through his brother's body. "Can I ask why yer neck's p'arple?" A distraction was a distraction, and as he saw faint purple splotches bleeding out from her hairline, he decided to just take that route.

He couldn't stop himself, however, when his hand rested atop her shoulder, curious fingers fondling her long neck. In that he took the moment to truly admire it; it was smooth, curiously delicate and swan-like, beautifully white against the strands of fuchsia that had managed to escape the cap she wore over it. He had never really gotten a good look at it before due to her hair always being in the way, which he found to be quite tragic seeing as it was easily her best feature. It even seemed to trump her smile.

"Uh…what'cha _dooo_in'?" She cut in, jerking him back to the real world. Instantly he dropped his hand, trying his might to ignore the collective snickering his ears were picking up.

"S-sorry."

Snorting, she just shook her head and rolled her eyes to the side. "I'm dying my hair, dummy. 'Cept Lily always feels the need to paint my whole head in the process."

"Hey!" Lily protested, focus pulled from her organizing the mess on the small table beside the chair. "I resemble that remark."

"Yeah? Wha' color?" Murphy muttered, cheeks still slightly pink.

"Red. Same as before." She answered promptly.

"Oooh, so them drapes don' match the carpet, eh?" Connor teased.

"Bite me, Connor." Pippin shot back.

"Alright, white girl, sit your ass down." The pin-up broke in, scooting along the rug onto the pale carpet, inching closer to the foot of the chair. In her hand was a small bottle of dark nail polish, along with toe separators, nail polish remover, a nail file, and a bag of cotton balls. Pippin did as she was told, turning away to unceremoniously plop down into the chair. Lily moved behind her, slapping out a black cape, and as it settled over Pippin, she snapped it in place around her neck. The pin-up, meanwhile, was propping her long, raptor-toed feet onto her lap, unscrewing the long black cap of the nail polish bottle and setting to work on painting her toenails.

"Oh, guys, you remember Lily, right?" Pippin asked as the boys ventured further into the room, Rocco and Connor taking up the loveseat as Murphy settled for the floor.

"Aye, we've met." Connor replied, forcing composure on his amused face.

"Okay, well, this is Eloise. Everyone calls her Ellie." She supplied, glancing at them in the corner of her eyes as Lily began to pull off her cap and pick through her tresses with hands sheathed in plastic gloves, her slim, graceful brows pulled together in concentration.

"Yeah, damn right everyone calls me Ellie." The pin-up spoke up, a challenge in her voice as she smoothed a shade of electric blue onto Pippin's big toe.

"That's Rose right there. And you know Jude already." Pippin mumbled, her head tipping back as she relaxed. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Rose snuggled up against him, Jude offered a casual salute before his attention turned back to the t.v. Following his line of sight, their attention was held briefly as the image of Gene Kelly leaping up onto a lamp post, soaking wet and singing, met their eyes.

"_Singin' in the Rain_?" Murphy spoke up, a smile touching his lips as he recognized the tune.

"It was Rose's choice tonight." Jude explained vacantly.

"Yep. Gene Kelly's her favorite actor." Pippin added, beaming with pride, as though this were her own personal accomplishment. "She looooves him, don't you, babe?"

"Yep." Rose piped, looking remarkably similar to her uncle as she gawked at the screen, her huge eyes reflecting all that she saw.

"Everyone in this house is a total movie buff." Lily chuckled. "Alright, it's good. Go ahead and wash it out." She told Pippin. At her feet, Ellie sighed.

"I just got started." She grumbled, capping the nail polish.

"Yeah, well, tough." Lily fired back, sneaking a quick slap to Pippin's ass as she retreated into the kitchenette. The sound of rushing water soon joined Gene Kelly's voice. Murphy watched the two women interact closely, both amused and amazed at how similar they were. Then again, that seemed to be Pippin's thing; she just attracted the oddest people, probably because she _was_ the oddest of people. His attention soon turned elsewhere, hopping from them to Rocco and his brother. Rocco was taking on the same expression, or lack thereof, that the two on the couch were, yet Connor seemed puzzled by something. His hazel eyes were searching the house with a frown.

"Where's Holly?" He asked at last, looking to Jude. A solid blink breaking his focus, the golden-haired man finally turned his eyes away from the t.v. to regard Connor with a bleary gaze.

"She's hanging up laundry." He said before nudging Rose to summon her attention. "Go get your mom."

Without a word, Rose hopped down from the couch, and took off into the hall and rounded the corner to disappear into one of the three rooms it lead to. There was one straight across from the one she entered, and another set at the end of hall between the two other rooms. As some light from the living room spilled into it, they could see black and white title flooring, and assumed it must've been the bathroom, leaving the other two rooms to most likely be bedrooms. Within a minute, Rose's tiny figure, accompanied by a much bigger one, moved through the shadow and stepped into the light.

Trailing behind her daughter was Holly, clad in a black tank top and a white skirt that swayed and flowed around her knees as gracefully as she moved. Her hair had been done up sloppily in a giant faux-tortoiseshell clip, and her face, still as beautiful as a priceless marble statue's, was scrubbed clean of make-up. Lifting her head, her pale gaze found the three, and her blank face broke into a smile that had them lost in a daydream.

Murphy tilted his head reflexively towards the movement caught in the corner of his eye, and the sight battled over which emotion it would dominate then. He wasn't quite sure who was better armed; amusement or surprise.

Connor looked nothing short of moonstruck. Though with a close-lipped smile and carefully guarded features, there was no hiding the shine in his eyes, especially from the person who had shared his entire life with him. They appeared lost in another world, floating in a faraway existence so distant from this reality it was almost discerning.

It was made clear enough to him then; seemed he wasn't the only one weak in the knees for the Evans sisters.

As he glanced back and forth between the two, his probing gaze especially lingering on Connor's pie-eyed expression with wicked glee, the sight of Pippin diverted his focus when she returned with dark, rumpled hair that was slowly spreading damp patches on her shoulders. She scrubbed a towel into the side of her head as she crossed the room, rounding the glass table and lowering herself to sit cross-legged beside Murphy. Grinning, she slipped a bottle of Negra Modelo into his hand.

Clasping her hands in her lap, Pippin looked to him before her warm doe eyes darted first to her blithely oblivious sister, who sat upon the couch with her daughter now squashed against her side, then to a rather dazed-looking Connor. With a slow turn of her head, she allowed some of her dark hair to snake into her face, and peered through the strands with a knowing smirk. "I guess it's true what they say…" She murmured so softly, he had to strain to hear it.

"Wha'?" Murphy inquired, lured to the bait of her words as he leaned forward a bit more for closer confidence. The bottle went forgotten in his hand.

"That saints are nothing without the angels to guide them."


	7. In Which Murphy Considers Therapy

Obviously I don't own Singin' in the Rain. Here's the scene this entire chapter was based off of; http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=7YWBOfsXsDA

* * *

_Well I've got a mind full of wicked designs_

_I've got a non-stop hole in my head_

_Imagination_

_I'm in a building that has two-thousand floorsand _

_When they all fall down_

_I think you know it's you they're fallin' for_

**~ Hey Pretty, by Poe ~**

Murphy knew he was dreaming. And quite frankly, he blamed Cyd Charisse and Gene Kelly for it.

The first thing that tipped him off? Well, the fact he was wearing something even his own grandmother wouldn't have dressed him in was a pretty good indication. As he gazed down at himself, he assessed his attire with an curled lip and a wrinkled brow; over a white button down with the sleeves rolled up far above his elbows, he wore a bright yellow vest and a pink tie tucked into it. His white slacks were rather close-fitting, and on his feet were brown shoes. When he ventured a bit further into the darkness around him, he could hear a strange clicking noise that matched the rhythm of his steps, and as he set a single leg upon the other knee to glance down beneath his shoes, he could see that they had taps nailed into them. Tap shoes? Why the hell was he wearing tap shoes? In fact, why the hell was he wearing any of this?

His attention was forced from his outfit and placed upon the building he was standing before, mostly because he really didn't want to acknowledge the fact he was wearing _**pink and yellow**_. The building looked to be an old-fashioned theater, and seemed quite big from his vantage point. It was a shadow blending into even more shadows, as it was as dark a night in his dream as it was in his reality. In fact, he wouldn't have been able to tell it was really a theater had he not been able to just make out the box office and the huge white screen, made gray in the oppressive gloom. A bloated, swollen moon was huge in the sky, serving as the only source of light. It was as silent as a graveyard save for his careful, clicking steps and the soft shuffle of his shoes grinding loose sediment into the pavement. He turned in a full circle, squinting through the darkness to see if he could even vaguely recognize his surroundings. There were no cars, no lit street lamps. He was still in Boston, right?

Making a motion to stuff his hands into the pockets of his white trousers, he was surprised when they slipped right down his thighs. Glancing down, it only took an attempted groping for a hole to realize he didn't have pockets. Well, no wonder his pants fit so well. He was wearing a jumpsuit.

"Christ's fuckin' sakes, if this dream's 'bout me an' tha' poof, I'm stickin' me gun in me mouth." He muttered to himself, his voice sounding strangely faraway. His back now facing the theater, a pale, silvery light suddenly pooled at the ground, and the black figure of his elongated silhouette stood out sharply. With a slow turn, he glanced back over his shoulder, his blue eyes finding yet another black shape.

Shielding his face with a raised hand, he cautiously approached the box office. Closing the distance between them, his eyes finally adjusted to the brilliance of the light. The being that stood before him was, oddly enough, Lily. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and a little red cap crowned her head, a black elastic strap holding it in place as it stretched taunt beneath her chin. She was clad in a red outfit that resembled a bellhop's uniform, trimmed in gold with gold buttons, and doing well to make her figure appear even more boyish.

"Lily? The fuck…" He began, utterly confused as he placed his hands upon the counter and leaned forward slightly. Her grin teasing, she wrinkled her nose slightly.

"We've all been expecting you." She replied cryptically, her smile enigmatic.

He frowned. "Expectin' me? Fer wha'?"

"For your performance, dumbass." She said dryly, her hazel eyes rolling.

"I have a performance?" He repeated dumbly, blinking at her.

Rather than reply, Lily merely stared at him as a short pause enclosed the two, but when a smile broke out over her face, it was shattered with a peal of her laughter. She thought he was kidding.

"Go in! They're waiting for you!" She urged, gesturing to the tall double doors adjacent to the box office with a nod of her head. His eyes fell upon the splintered, aged doors that lead into the theater, its red paint faded from years of neglect and its gold embellishments tarnished beyond repair. Gaze flickering back to her insistent face, he wrestled with the notion that this might have been a poor decision, dream or no. But it _was_ only a dream. Just a dream. Only a dream.

As he pushed a single door open, it released a long cry in protest, its hinges near to giving way by the sound of it. Stepping inside the sliver of light that ran in a stripe across the endless black abyss, he felt cold air caress him, his skin erupting into gooseflesh as the hair upon his arms lifted. The door closed with a loud crash that echoed off walls unseen, leaving him in total blackness.

"Hallo?" He called out, only to have his own voice answer in another echo. "Hallo? The fuck's goin' on?" His steps called back to him as the tail end of his shout faded away, the taps now finally annoying the shit out of him. Pivoting sharply to glance back at the door, only to find it had melted into the darkness along with him, he faced front again, blowing out a hot, irritated sigh. Seriously, where the flying fuck was he?

"God damn it, is somebody thar?" He snapped again. Not even a minute after he said this, there at last came the desired response. Though, not quite the one he was expecting.

There was a sound like an enormous light kicking on, and sure enough, a spotlight, brilliant in this overpowering gloom, shone like a beacon some distance from him. In the middle of the pool of white was a girl, sitting upon the edge of a chair with one leg fully stretched out as it rested upon her other knee. Her shoulders were pulled back in perfect posture, her hands were placed upon her hips, and held between her forefinger and middle finger was a long, white cigarette holder. At the end of her leg, hanging from the toe of her deep green pump, was a white hat with the brim turned up at the front. She was clad in an unusual, rather provocative emerald green flapper-style dress over sheer tights that were tinted green, and upon her throat was an emerald choker with matching arm rings and bracelets all down her left arm. Her auburn hair flowed to her elbows in perfectly straight cascade, and her head was tilted forward until her bangs and the shadows they raked across her face shielded her eyes from him. He could just make out the glittering, rose petal lips curved in a fox-like smirk, giving him enough of a clue as to who this young lady was.

"Pip? Wha' the fuck are ye doin'?" He demanded, coming forward with long strides and stopping just short of a few inches from her. Slowly she lifted her head, turning sensual brown eyes onto him, rimmed in black kohl and long eyelashes enhanced with either damn good mascara or fakes. With a coy half-grin, she exhaled through her nose, a cloud of pale smoke lifting as she did so. To say she was already extremely distracting to look upon was an understatement. Being that this was a dream, _his_ dream no less, her breasts seemed to have grown even larger, and were made even more pronounced in the skin tight, spaghetti strap green dress. Her legs were elegant and spidery, her hips more rounded. Even her waist appeared more pinched. The girl was a _broad_.

As he was assessing these changes to her physical make-up with parted lips and a vacant stare, she suddenly started sinking in her chair, the stiff leg that held the hat lifting as she did so. Her hands stayed on her hips, and her other leg was still bent at a ninety degree angle. Apparently she was more flexible as well. This woman was going to be the death of him.

Not quite sure of what he should do, he simply went with the flow and took the hat from her foot. Placing it upon his head in an absentminded gesture, he took a good, long look at the substantial length of leg she was presenting. Gravitating closer to it, the other abruptly kicked up and fell across its twin, startling him just a slight. When she lifted herself from the chair, she unwound her twisted stems and slunk past with her cigarette holder held aloft, the skirt of her dress, not truly a skirt but individual strips of bedazzled cloth clustered together into one, flying around her thighs as she did so. His eyes couldn't help but linger on her swaying hips as she sensually strut past, and he was so distracted that it took him a few moments to realize they were no longer surrounded by darkness. Looking about, he realized that he was suddenly inside a large, smoky bar room, dim lights shining down from above, the red floors and walls replacing the black. Scattered all around were tables attended by young, beautiful couples, all dressed similarly to Pippin and himself, albeit less colorful.

There was a slow, seductive jazz piece playing from an unknown location, and for a moment, as he watched Pippin's hips smoothly rock back and forth, he toyed with the idea that the music was coming from her and the graceful movements she was creating. Snapping her head back around to glance over her elegant shoulder, the cigarette holder held high, he flushed a bright pink and quickly glanced away. He hoped she hadn't caught him staring at her backend…marvelously formed as it was anyway.

Turning with a high kick of her leg, she scampered back to him, moving behind and around to slide in front of him, the cigarette holder held between clenched teeth. With her hands on her hips once more, one of her shoulders jerked forward and back in rhythm to the music, tempting him to lean in a bit more for a better look at her assets. As he got closer, her head rolled up, and another haze of smoke lifted from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth, floating up into his nose. Releasing a small cough, he looked away, and she was dancing away from him again.

She was like a swan that was moving as a vulture. Graceful, elegant, but circling him as though trying to break whatever willpower he had still standing. Suddenly she was at his side again, moving her shoulders in the way she had before, but this time she was leaning so far back, her knees had to bend quite a bit so she could keep her balance. Once more, he had to look away. He could feel the heat rise past his collar, color flooding his cheeks. What the hell was this?

Her Latin twists blended into a sort of modified Charleston next, a hand held up before her face as one leg lightly touched the other in a seductive tag. Dipping down low and snapping back up to nail him with another fierce stare, he seemed to be catching on to her little dance, for he turned immediately after she did. Twirling in front of him, she showed her back and flashed a cocky expression over her shoulder before twisting back around and extracting a pair of thick glasses from his face. Frown, he tried to think back to when he had ever put glasses on, only to realize they hadn't even been there before she took them away.

Circling him again, dangling them teasingly in front of his eyes, she slid in front and sighed on the lenses to fog them up, rubbing the cloudy glass upon her dangerously exposed inner thigh. With another coy grin, she began to march victoriously, twirling the glasses by their earpiece. She was making fun of him. Oh _**really**_.

She whipped around again just as his frustration was beginning to build, catching him off guard and knocking him back just an inch. He felt cold hit his head as his hat fell to the ground, and just as he bent to pick it up, her bright green pumps had kicked it away. Pivoting, she dropped his glasses to the floor and kicked them, too. Fluidly he rose, mostly to avoid looking at her mile-long legs, but also to stare her down with a glare. Instead of being cowed by his scowling face, she stuck the tip of the cigarette holder in his mouth, and started twisting away. At the sight of her inspecting her nails nonchalantly, her back turned to him, his anger finally boiled. Taking the cigarette holder from his mouth, he chucked it away and started forward, his arousal and frustration melding together until it was burning his face. Snatching her wrist, he yanked her in as she leapt up, one arm wrapped around his neck to catch herself, the other held straight back, both knees bent as her legs lifted from the ground.

Gazing down at him, there was a smirk of satisfaction playing along her lips that gradually broadened until she was showing teeth. It was about that moment he realized exactly what he had just done; he fell right into her trap. He was suddenly hyperaware of everything that went on around him. With gravity pressing down on the pair, he could feel every twitch of her muscles, the rise and fall of her chest. He was drawn into her smiling face, close enough for him to kiss, perfect in this slightly fuzzy lighting that was reminiscent of classic Technicolor films. Feeling himself lower her, sliding her down his body all the way to the floor, still his eyes held hers. She laid over her legs as they were tucked beneath her, stretching her arm up over her head as the other hand held his own.

Something surged up within him as he gazed down at her, and his legs suddenly felt restless, his heart fluttering in his chest like a hummingbird's wings. Flicking out his leg over her and stepping to her side, he whirled her around until she was sitting up again, and hoisted her up to throw her into a spin. The skirt and fringe that dripped from her shoulders flew out as she executed three perfect pirouettes and fell back into him, her arms encircling his neck as she did so. Bringing one in an arch above her head, her smile played devilish again as he lowered her in a slow dip until she was laid out on the floor.

Again he pulled her back up, and again she fell back against him, this time moulding her back against his front. Stretching out her arms with his, he forced her into bending her knees so the back of them could fit against his own. Rising up, he wrapped both his and her own arms around her, and swayed a couple of times before he whirled her out. Hand in hand, they lifted up on the balls of their feet so that their legs bounced in time with the music. Reeling her in and flinging her around so that she was pressed up against him, her leg lifted and pinned itself against his hip as her arms wound around his neck. Using himself as a brace, he threw her up, and as he did so, the arm and leg of her right side were sent straight back. Her face just hovered over his, their noses just nearly touching, and before he could forget how to breathe, he brought her back down and ran his hand up the underside of her leg, taking her ankle in his hand to dip her down low and swing her back up.

Turning out of it, the music slowing as it floated to its close, she closed in and placed her hands upon his chest, at last moving in for the kiss he longed for this entire time. Lowering his head, her lips were just skimming over his own when he realized they were moving as though she were speaking, not kissing.

"Murphy, you have to wake up now." She whispered, her breath warm on his face.

He hadn't become aware that his eyes had drifted close until his heavy lids lifted, his eyesight bleary as the unclear image of her face floated before him.

"Wha'?" He repeated dumbly, frowning.

"Wake up. It's time to wake up." She said again, moving away from him for a final time before she and the smoky, red bar room dissolved into darkness, leaving him all alone once again.

* * *

Rubbing his palms into his rough, stubbly face, he released a long groan and sat on the edge of the bed. Though the sound of running water was close, it seemed faraway to his hazy senses. It was morning, another pale gray morning in the quiet city of South Boston.

"The fuck's wrong wit' ye?" Connor called back, his voice echoing as it bounced from the title wall before him. Peering through his fingers, Murphy just frowned as his brother glanced back at him, scrubbing his hands through his dark hair.

"Rough nigh'." He answered back, his groggy voice muffled as his face sank back into his cupped palms.

"So I heard. Mind explainin' tha' one?"

"Wait, heard?" Murphy dropped his hands, his brows knitting together in a puzzled frown.

"Yeah. Ye talk in yer sleep." Connor replied casually, going about with his business. Murphy couldn't really blame him; this was one of the rare times their shower actually spat out some hot water.

"Wha'd I say?" He demanded, a touch of panic in his words.

"Eh, I couldn' really unde'stand most o' it. Ye mostly just made noises like a nursin' babe and kep' sayin' Pip's name ove' an' ove'. So I guess tha' brings me te ask…" He trailed off, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. "_Were_ ye a nursin' babe?"

"Shut the fuck up, Connor. An' ye ain' got no room te judge. Me an' Pip both saw ye moonin' at Holls las' nigh'."

Shrugging, he turned away again. "Hey, I ain' denyin' it. I t'ink she's smokin' hot."

Murphy sighed, crossing his arms as he set them upon his knees. "Connor…she's married. With a kid…" As they shared a level stare, there was a short pause. "And deaf."

"Wha's yer point?"

"Ye can' fuck 'er."

"Who ever said I was gonna fuck 'er? I have much more respect fer Holly than tha'." He defended, turning the knob until the pipes rattled and growled, and the water ceased to flow. Yanking a towel from the bar above his head, he wrapped it around his waist and ambled over to his own bed.

"Riiight. So…ye're jus' gonna jerk off to 'er." Murphy deadpanned, lifting a single brow.

"Yeah, pretty much." Connor affirmed with a nod of his head, completely guilt free. "Now tha' tha's outta the way, wha' were ye dreamin' 'bout las' nigh'?"

Murphy glared. "Ye sick bastard."

"Oh, pl'ase. I know ye weren' jerkin' it. Trust me, afte' livin' wit' ye fer twenty-seven y'ars, I know when yer jerkin' it an' when ye're not." He explained, plucking shirts from the tangle of his bedclothes and sniffing them to gauge what he could wear.

"…Tha's…kinda fucked up, Connor."

"Yeah, I t'ought so, too." Tugging a faded black shirt over his head and pushing his arms through, Connor shrugged again. "Anyway, 'fess up."

"Uh…well, ye know tha' part in Singin' in the Rain where Gene Kelly an' Cyd Charisse dance 'round in tha' bar?" Murphy muttered, digging his fingertips into his wild, bedraggled dark hair.

"Yeah." His twin replied, tossing the towel to slip his boxers on, his jeans shortly following suit.

"I was dreamin' 'bout tha'…'cept I was Gene Kelly, an' Pip was Cyd Charisse."

There was a short pause as Connor just stared at his brother for an uncomfortably long time.

"Ye were better off jus' jerkin' it."


	8. In Which Murphy's MPMS Spares No One

_It gets hard_

_The memory's faded_

_Who gets what they say_

_It's likely they're just jealous and jaded_

_Well maybe I don't want to take advice from fools_

_I'll just figure everything is cool_

_Until I hear it from you_

**~'Til I Hear It From You, by The Gin Blossoms~**

"Alright," Rocco began, lowering himself into the seat across from Murphy and Connor. As he crossed his arms and set them upon the table, he leaned in, prompting the twins to do the same. "Here's our next job."

"Jaysus, Roc, s'only been a day since our last'un." Murphy said pointedly with lifted brows, tapping ash from his half-spent cigarette into the glass ashtray placed before him. "Either ye suddenly got good at doin' yer homework, or ye've got more problems than we do."

"Shut the fuck up, Murph." Rocco muttered with a roll of his pale eyes.

"I suggest you all shut the fuck up." A female voice retorted. As Pippin squeezed between Murphy and Connor, she leaned forward to set a large, blue mug in front of the scruffy-faced Italian. "Unless you want to let all of Boston know who you dumb fucks are, I suggest you keep it down. I put you in the corner for a reason."

"Pip, really? Ye can' move ove' thar an' do tha'?" Murphy mumbled, leaning away as her left breast brushed against his ear. Glancing at his brother for a pinch of nonverbal communication, he made a motion to roll his eyes before he realized Connor wasn't looking at him. In fact, Connor was leaning back to get a better view of the back of Pippin's thighs, which were exposed to the world thanks to the length of her uniform's black miniskirt. Reaching across to send a quick smack to the back of Connor's head, Murphy glared. His brother merely feigned innocence and shrugged, mouthing, '_What?_' Across the table, Rocco pursed his lips to keep from laughing.

"What? Does it bother you, Murph?" She replied coolly, setting the last of the mugs down, the tray she held aloft now being tucked beneath her free arm. Glancing over at him, still leaning in between the brothers, she arched a brow, her high, golden red ponytail snaking over her shoulder and swaying a few times. Her chest was suddenly pressed up against his face before he could fire back a retort, rubbing against it as she began to squirm around.

"I'm so sorry, let me fix that - oh, oops, I'm stuck. Hold on, let me - oh, whoops, uh oh." She said straight-faced before she finally moved away, nailing him with a flat, sarcastic stare. Connor and Rocco began to howl with laughter at Pippin's antics, clapping and banging their fists on the table, attracting the curious stares of the few customers scattered throughout _Café Python_. Murphy, however, had his beet red face set into a surly mask. "Get over it." Pippin deadpanned, setting a fist upon her hip as she shifted her weight. "Or it'll be my ass next. And I had burritos last night, so I wouldn't be tempting fate if I were you." With that, she turned about face and took off for the kitchens, leaving Connor and Rocco to tremble violently with laughter, and Murphy to turn in his chair and stare after her with a dumbfounded expression. Just as she disappeared behind the swinging door, Jude was heading their way, dusting his hands off on his black sweater and pushing his golden hair out of his eyes. As he passed them, Murphy whipped his arm out to lightly smack the lanky blonde on the arm.

"Tha's yer fuckin' sister talkin' like tha'." Murphy said, gesturing to the door with his thumb.

"Dude…same dance, different tune." Jude replied with a lazy shrug before he set off out the door again. It was Thursday, meaning it was his night to perform live at the café. Where his sister took open-mic Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, Jude took the weekdays. For the better part of the last hour, he had been going back and forth between the stage and his car, setting up instruments and plugging in amps. He was working alone, since Ellie, the drummer of his band, was working the floor along with Pippin and Lily.

Murphy shook his head and turned back around to face a finally calmed Rocco with a sigh. "Alrigh', wha's the fuckin' job?"

As Rocco stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee, he snorted. "He's a soldier named Angelo Grimaldi. Everyone calls him Junkyard 'cause he takes out his victims like he takes out the trash. Like they're nothin'." Tapping the spoon against the lip of the mug and setting it to the side, he sighed. Lifting his finger to wet, he dipped it in the sugar that hadn't made it into the coffee and licked it away, still staring at the swirling contents in the blue mug. "This guy's a total cocksucker. He gets a job a few weeks back, ordered to take out this rat that's been leaking information to a rival family somewhere across town. So he and a few more guys go up there to pay a visit, right? He takes the guy out, like he's s'posed to. Then he goes too far…" He trailed away then, falling into silence.

The twins couldn't decide if it was because he was trying to collect himself, or if it was because Pippin had returned to drop off the blueberry scones they had ordered. She didn't say anything, just swept the table with a guarded gaze, as though trying to warn them of their volume again. With a tilt of her head, she gestured to a young couple moving into a table close by, lead by Chloe, a little blonde hostess with small, mousy features. "Keep it down." She mouthed to them before retreating to tend to her other tables.

"How'd he go too far, Roc?" Connor inquired gently as all three men leaned in further, huddling together for closer confidence.

"He takes out the guy's wife, too. He didn't have to fuckin' do that, the sick fuck. Then the motherfucker has the balls to brag 'bout it like he's worthy of a fuckin' trophy." He paused briefly, taking in a deep breath. "Sick fuck."

"An' we have ourselves a winne'." Connor said after a moment, reclining in his chair. Murphy glanced sidelong at him, crushing his cigarette into the ashtray as he sighed his last breath of smoke.

"Aye." He agreed with a slow nod.

"Here's the address of the tannin' salon he goes to." Rocco said heavily, pulling a small, folded piece of paper from his coat and tossing it onto the table. "Usually stops by there at around four on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He skipped out on Tuesday, so it's a sure bet he's gonna be there today."

"Very nice. Who's car are we takin'?" Murphy inquired, lifting his mug to his lips, sending ripples across the surface of the tan liquid as he blew on it.

"That's the thing. Pip said she'd help us out with that one, so I'm kinda just trustin' her judgment on that. My fuckin' scrap heap's burnin' in Car Hell right now."

"We were jus' drivin' it the othe' day." Connor protested with a frown.

"Yeah, well, who the fuck really knows what's wrong with that fuckin' thing. Anyway…"

As Rocco trailed off into contemplative silence, Murphy peered over the top of his mug and glanced at his brother to gauge his reaction. Connor was pensive as well, running a finger back and forth along the scruff on his chin.

In the back of their minds, the lazy drawl of their surroundings served as white noise as they all mulled things over. One of the components that made the various sounds of the café was the charming little ring of the silver bell that hung above the door and alerted all of a new customer's arrival. All heard it, but none paid it any mind. In fact, they wouldn't have even noticed it ringing it at all had the familiar voice of a young child not followed it shortly after. Turning in their chairs, the sight of Rose's long hair shimmering silver in the pale gray light of the morning caught their eyes, and all felt their lips pull up into an involuntary smile when she went whizzing past the hostess stand and through the labyrinth of tables and chairs.

"Aunt Norah!" She cried out, colliding into a kneeling Pippin, who warmly accepted her into outstretched arms. Rising to a stand, lifting the girl until her little, red rain boot-clad feet dangled, Pippin began to rock back and forth as she turned in a circle, looking to be doing an awkward, clumsy little dance whilst Rose's legs swayed. The smile that stretched across Pippin's face had never been more pure as she finally stopped and hoisted her niece up a bit, holding her legs against her front so that they could make silly faces at each other for a minute or two.

Rocco, Connor, and Murphy all shared a laugh and shook their heads, their attention then turning to Holly, who still stood by the door unwinding a red scarf from around her neck. That Rose and Holly were mother and daughter couldn't have been denied by even the most skeptical of skeptics now; never mind they shared a face, they also seemed to share a wardrobe. Both wore black, goose-down coats, jeans, red scarves, red rain boots, and droopy black berets. The only difference between them was that from Holly's arm hung a large, plain black purse, and from Rose's hung a stuffed bunny that had looked like it had seen better days. Catching sight of them, Holly lifted a hand in greeting and held her purse in front of her, smiling brightly before she made her way over to them. Signing something they couldn't understand, she laughed and looked back to her daughter and sister. Pippin approached the table slowly, distracted by the bunny Rose held.

"Alice wants a kiss!" The little girl demanded laughingly, holding the toy close to Pippin's face. Exaggerated surprise on her face, she obliged and delivered a small peck to the bunny's pink nose.

"There we go. Alice got her kiss." She reported with a smile full of such jubilation, Murphy, closely observing her face as the pair finally reach the table, could no longer be aware of what went on around him. For just a moment, all that went on around him _was_ her smile.

"Alright, loves. Holly's got shit to say. Be nice." Pippin said, lifting a finger in warning and shooting them all a dirty look. Dropping a kiss onto both her niece and sister's head, once again she took off power walking. As if they _could_ be mean to Holly.

"Tell th' bo's wha' I to'd 'ou." She said then, signing as she did so and leaning towards her daughter, who was clumsily fighting her way up into the chair beside her. Astounding them all, they could feel their jaws actually drop to the table as they watched with wide eyes. For the first time since they had met her, Holly was _verbally communicating_. It was broken and incomplete as it was with most deaf people, and it was slurred to the point of being barely comprehensible. They had never heard it before save for all the times she had laughed, but the imperfection of it made her seem much more real. After all, one could only be so beautiful before their very existence was doubted, and in the case of Holly Elizabeth Coburn, the fact she hadn't disappeared in a puff of smoke yet was something truly miraculous.

"Um, Mommy says that, that you guys can, um, borrow her car 'cause, 'cause Aunt Norah's car isn't very good." Rose said with the emphasis that very young children always put into their words. While she spoke, she continuously ran her hand through her hair and tucked it behind her ear, messing it up even further.

"Well, tha's very nice o' yer Mommy." Connor said, trying to hide his laughter behind earnest appreciation. Young as she was, she wouldn't know the difference.

"Um, she said that, that Aunt Norah's car could, um, could probably only get you, um, about a c-couple of, um, of miles, so, so…" Amusing as it was to see Rose try to stretch her vocabulary a good fifty more words than she actually knew, Murphy had to intervene. Not just for her sake, but for the sake of the people that sat near them; Rose, like all children, seemed to share the same predicament as her mother in that she still didn't seem to understand volume control.

"T'ank ye very much, Rosie, we'll be sure te tell yer Aunt Norah te t'ank yer Mam fer us."

"Oh, okay." She said, clasping her hands together and placing her chin upon them.

"Hey, Rose, how come you call her Aunt Norah and not Pippin like everyone else?" Rocco inquired then, crossing his arms and setting them upon the table. It seemed that Rose simply had a habit of playing with her hair, for she picked right back up doing it as she contemplated her answer with wandering blue eyes.

"Um, cause, cause I call Uncle Jude Uncle Jude, and, um, since Aunt Norah's name is Norah, I call her Aunt Norah." She explained with a finality that really couldn't tempt them to address the subject further. After all, in the mind of a four-year-old child, the entire world was a black and white photo.

"Where'd ye get yer bunny, Rosie?" Connor said after a minute, gesturing to the toy she held in the crook of her arm. Clearly it was as old as she was, possibly older, and so worn and gray with age it barely looked like what it was supposed to be. They could tell that, once upon a time, it had been white as freshly fallen snow, with pink silk sewed on to serve as the padding of its feet and paws, as well as its nose and the inside of its long, floppy ears. There was only one black button eye left, the lost one replaced with a big X of black thread. Still, there was so much love lurking in every loosened stitch, it was easy to see how beautifully crafted it had been when it was new.

"Aunt Norah gave her to me." Rose replied with a toothy grin, clutching the bunny to her chest. "Her name is Alice."

"Like _Alice in Wonderland_?" Murphy put in, turning his mug in his restless hands. Holly must've been reading his lips, because as soon as his words left them, her own broke out in a wide, dimpled smile. They were just expecting a 'yes' or a 'no' from the child, but what they got instead was a look of total rapture on her little angel face, as though she had won the lottery, but was offered the payment in candy rather than a check.

"That's my favorite story!" She said excitedly, bouncing in her seat a few times. "How'd you know that, Mr. Murphy?"

"Uh, l-lucky guess?" He replied, taken aback. Partly for the surprise of her reaction, but mostly because she had addressed him as a 'Mr.'

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Pippin's voice came floating back, and with the sound of a chair's legs scraping the hard wood floor, there she sat beside him, straddling the chair backwards and setting crossed arms atop the back. As Murphy's blue eyes struggled to train themselves on any place other than the inside of her thighs, he rather looked like he was close to having a seizure. With his eyes flickering back and forth, and his head and shoulders making odd jerking movements, he soon attracted the curious stares of those present.

"Murph? Uh…wha' the fuck's wrong wit' ye?" Connor spoke up first, arching a brow as his mug paused halfway to his lips.

Lifting a hand to hold his head, as well as to partially cover his face, Murphy just glanced up at the ceiling, ignoring the heat that rushed to his face. "Pip, fer the love o' Christ, would'ja pl'ase close yer legs? Everyone an' their dog don' need te see up ye skirt." He grumbled fiercely, rounding his shoulder to angle away from her.

She simply stared at him with mild incredulity before looking to every other confused or slightly bewildered face around her. Clasping her hands together and propping her elbows up onto the table, she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, grilling him with a concrete stare. "Is there a problem, Murphy? Did I _say_ something or _do_ something to offend you? If so, then I apologize. If not, pull that fucking stick out of your ass so I can beat you over the head with it." She said clearly before gritting her teeth.

"I jus' t'ink ye should close yer legs, fer fuck's sake! It's only decent fer a woman!" He whispered back fiercely, glancing over his shoulder.

"Hey, Murphy, guess what?" She whispered back, swinging her leg over the chair, she came to a stand and bowed at her legs a bit. Without a moment's hesitance, she yanked up the hem of her little skirt over her thighs, revealing a pair of close-fitting black shorts. "You're a fucking idiot." They were as tiny as the skirt, like the kind of shorts cheerleaders or gymnasts wore, but still…shorts were shorts. Murphy could feel the heat in his face increase. Before he could get another word out, however, she was standing straight up, arms crossed over her chest.

"What's your fucking problem, huh? Why are being a total asshole to me? You used to be so nice, so what the fuck?"

"I'm no' bein' an asshole!" He defended petulantly.

"Yes, you are. The whole boob thing, then the skirt thing, plus you've been using this asshole tone with me ever since you walked through that door. Did I say something last night?"

"No…" He murmured, his eyes finding his brother's. Brows lifting, Connor gave him a look that clearly said, 'Way to go, dumbass.'

"Then what? Why are you being so mean to me?"

"I just…"

"He's jus' a moody bitch, Pip. Don' worry 'bout 'im." Connor cut in, reaching out a hand to give her forearm a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, he's just PMSing somethin' fuckin' awful." Rocco added, snickering behind the hand that cradled his chin.

"Shut the fuck up, Roc." Murphy grumbled, his face sour.

"Whatever. Tell your brother he'd better cheer the fuck up. That shit didn't come free, and I'm paying for it." Pippin directed towards Connor, her warning coupled with lifted brows as she gestured to the coffee and the blueberry scones.

"Norah, sweetie! Could we have some more tea over here?" An elderly woman called out from a few tables down. As everyone's attention was called to her and the ladies she accompanied, they recognized the elaborate, bright red hats and the deep purple pantsuits of the Red Hat Society. With the kilowatt smile that always arrested anyone's attention, Pippin approached them with a long strides, her ponytail swinging and shimmering in the light that spilled in through the window.

"Ol' fwends o' our gra'mudd'a." Holly explained, her hands active with signing.

"Nana's not a member anymore, though. She, um, lives in a big house with lots of other old people." Rose added, playing with her hair again. Of course. Pippin's family _would_ have something to do with old ladies who wore crazy, mismatched clothes. After a few minutes of pinching at her cheeks, groping at her waist and various other assets, and cooing compliments and comparisons to her mother and grandmother, Pippin returned, the pink of embarrassed jubilation in her cheeks. Though that could have been from the pinching.

"Crazy old biddies." She muttered, clearly with fondness judging from the smile on her lips. Leaning into Rose's chair, she placed her other hand upon her hip. "Alright, so as I was saying before Murphy decided to be a cunt," with a pointed stare at the slouching twin, her gaze returned to sweep the table, "what's the plan?"

"Whoa, whoa, okay I'm not Parent of the Year or anything, but there are young ears 'round here, Pip." Rocco, of all people, cut in with a wave of his hand before it gestured to a blank-faced Rose. "I mean, what kind of example are you setting for her?"

Everyone simply frowned at him, mostly because of the fact it was _Rocco_ who was stating this, but also because of all the sailor talk that had commenced over the course of this conversation, it was the word 'cunt' that finally tipped the scale. With a roll of her eyes, Pippin shook her head.

"She knows not to do it. Rosie, what did Aunt Norah tell you about cussing, drinking, smoking, sex, and drugs?"

In a perfectly normal, sweet little voice, she piped, "That if you ever caught me doing any of those things, you would sell my liver on the Black Market." At this response, all three men suddenly looked as if they were suffering indigestion. "What? Like she knows what the Black Market is." Pippin defended with a shrug.

"Ye're diabolical, woman." Murphy forced out as his face sank into his palm. The moment he proclaimed that, Jude abruptly materialized behind Pippin, placing his hands upon her shoulders to squeeze any kinks out of them. Without looking back at him, Pippin lifted her hand to give his cheek a few affectionate smacks.

"See, I keep telling people that, but no one ever believes me," Jude said wistfully, sighing dramatically.

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Pippin grumbled with a reluctant smile. "Anywhodaloodum, we has a plan, good sir."

"Apparently we're taking Holly's car since yours isn't up to par." Rocco said, taking a chunk out of a scone.

"Bumblebee's never been up to par. That thing only gets as far as it does because of some voodoo magic Pip's instilled in it." Jude put in, wrapping his long, lanky arms around his sister's neck and began to sway from side to side.

"Bumblebee? Like…the Transformer?" Connor inquired with an arched brow, pulling a fresh cigarette from his breast pocket and screwing the filter between his lips. As he patted himself down for his lighter, there was a click as Holly leaned across the table to oblige him with a flame of her own. Murphy noticed the lust in Connor's lingering stare and smile, even as she rolled back away from him and returned to her seat. Jude delivered a discreet nudge to Pippin's shoulder, meaning he not only saw it, but was in on it, too. Glancing to his side, Murphy observed that it had completely slipped Rocco's notice, which, quite frankly, wasn't a big surprise.

"So, ah, why ye name yer car Bumblebee?" Connor finally asked once his gaze was torn from Holly's face.

"Bumblebee was her favorite Transformer as a kid." Jude provided, struggling not to laugh judging from the slight waver in his voice.

"Actually, Grimlock was, but Bumblebee was the only Transformer who was a Volkswagen beetle in his alternate mode." Pippin corrected, elbowing him in ribs.

"Why do you guys need the car anyway?" Jude asked innocently, a pale brow lifting. Pippin swept in before their uncomfortable glances could be exchanged.

"Irrelevant. Anyway, I gotta go talk to Ellie. If you guys are taking Holly's car, Jude, you need to take her and Rosie home. And, boys…" She trailed off to bend down and lean against the table, the end of her ponytail slipping over her shoulder as she closed the distance between herself and all three men. "For God's sake, don't make a mess of things?"

"Yes, ma'm." They all replied in unison, their voices flat.

"Good. Now get the fuck outta here before I change my mind." She replied, her voice doing a poor imitation of Humphrey Bogart's for some reason. Then again, where Pip was concerned, there wasn't much reason for anything she did or said. Moving away from Jude, she dropped a kiss onto the head of a distracted, daydreaming Rose before shifting her attention to her sister. Placing a hand on the shoulder opposite her, Pippin got close to Holly's face and mouthed something they couldn't decipher. All the same, a bright smile lit up her angelic face, enthusiastic nods and quiet laughter shortly following after, and Pippin's lips pecked a kiss on her brow. As he watching this tender exchange, Murphy could feel his chest clench.

There were so many things he wanted simply from observing the pair. First and foremost, he wanted to be in Holly's place, that being the most glaring and flagrant desire that burned in him. Second, he wished that, for just a moment, he and Connor could have been born as sisters instead. In the case of twin girls, there never seemed to be any hindrance in displaying the affection that twin brothers often denied all for the sake of being manly and rugged. And thirdly, knowing that he and his brothers were obviously not women and never could be, he wished that their bond could run as deep as the one between the Evans girls.

"Alright, back to the coal mines." Pippin announced then, rising to full height. Once she strode off to seek Ellie, all stood as one unit, some lagging behind more than others.

"Alrigh', well, bye g'arls. We'll talk to ye late'." Connor murmured gruffly, standing before Holly once he patted himself down to check to see if all was in order. Holding the hand of the miniature duplicate that was her daughter, she paused with narrowed eyes on his mouth before a smile swept her lips, and her head bobbed a few times in a nod.

"Bye, Mr. Connor." Rosie chirped like an eager fledgling, extracting her hand from her mother's so she could wind her arms around his legs for a hug, her bunny suffocating as it was held between her arm and his thigh. As she migrated to Rocco and then Murphy to do the same, Connor frowned as he noticed something slightly off about the child. While it was true she was no graceful swan with her clumsy waddling, Rose certainly didn't move all that abnormally considering her age. Now she walked with a limp in her left leg, a limp that hadn't been there the night before.

"Rose, what-?" He started, instantly cut off as Holly closed the proximity between them with a light kiss on his cheek. As his heart rate soared higher and higher the longer she held his rapidly blinking gaze, it plummeted when she did the very same to Rocco and Murphy, who, like with Rose's display of affectionate farewell, hadn't been expecting it either.

"We're very touchy people. We love touching and kissing and hugging and all that." Jude explained as he kept his distance, arms crossed over his sinewy chest.

"Aye, clearly." Connor replied with lifted brows.

"So…c'mere, muffiiiiiin~!" He gushed, arms spread eagle before he threw an enthusiastic hug on the stumbling, wide-eyed Irishman. As he awkwardly returned it with a few hesitant pats to his back, Connor gradually loosened his stiff muscles. Such a bizarre family. "And you, too, sweetums!" Jude was off of him in an instant, this time directing his squeaky voice and onslaught of love to Murphy, who suddenly became uncharacteristically nimble as he darted behind Rocco, his expression guarded.

"Ahh…" Connor sighed, rolling his eyes. "If ye all are done bein' a clusterfuck o' faggots, I'm gonna be off killin' bastards."


	9. In Which Pip is a Righteous Idiot

_Well, you can cut a rug _

_Watching you is the only drug I need _

_So gangster, I'm so thug _

_You're the only one I'm dreaming of _

_You see I can be myself now finally _

_In fact there's nothing I can't be _

_I want the world to see you'll be with me_

**~ Hey, Soul Sister, by Train ~**

Pippin knew what she was doing was absolutely stupid, and it would most likely get in her a colossal amount of trouble. Fact of the matter was, she didn't really care. Things had changed since Rocco went nuts in that deli, since she had seen more blood fly than even Quentin Tarantino could dish out. Something within her mind had released this wild creature that craved blood, violence, and the need to see justice done. But perhaps it was mostly that she wanted to just belong.

Curled up in a tiny ball, hidden away in the trunk of her sister's car, patiently she waited until the moment was right. Until she could spring out and mow down a few baddies for herself, finally proving her worth to the boys. Proving that she was just as good, if not better, at ridding the city of mob filth. She'd finally find a place among them, be something great for once in her life. She could stop living in the huge shadow her beautiful, talented siblings had cast, make her father proud of her after so many years of disappointing him and feeling ashamed he ever had another daughter. She could finally be Norah, not 'Holly's sister.'

Hell, she could stop being Pippin, the chubby girl with big feet and tree-trunk thighs. She could never be angelic, blonde perfection like her sister or her mother, but she'd at least _be_ something. This was her chance. At last, after so many years of messing everything up, she could do something truly fantastic, truly amazing. All she needed to do was just stay-

Click.

"Pip, ge' the fuck outta the trunk." The exhausted voice of Connor drawled as the gray light of early afternoon spilled into her hiding place. Shielding her eyes, her body contracted to make itself even smaller, but there really was no point. She was caught.

"How the hell'd you know I was even in here?" She demanded, twisting her head around to look up at the symmetrical silhouettes that gazed down at her.

"The number one rule o' stowin' away is te be fuckin' quiet." Murphy deadpanned.

"And ye're not exactly the most graceful o' g'arls," Connor added. "Or quiet."

"But-but…" Pippin started in, rolling up onto hands and knees as she gawked at the pair, ponytail mussed and shirt twisted.

"C'mon, up and at 'em." Pippin heard Murphy sigh as she felt his gloved hand take hold of her upper arm. With a long groan, slowly she crawled out of the trunk, assisted by the boys as they held both arms. Immediately she cast her head down, ready to storm off with arms pumping, but he back of her shirt was very quickly grabbed. Though she was easily dragged back, still she kept up the motion of walking.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey thar. Ye got some s'plain' te do, Lucy," Connor said, keeping a firm hold of her shirt. Still, she made no motion to stop.

Murphy came before her, placing his palm against her forehead and keeping her at arm's length. "Give it up, Pip." He sighed. Keeping it up for a few more seconds, she must've realized the futility herself, for her arms went limp as she leaned deadweight into Murphy's hand. Pushed back into a perfectly vertical standing position, Pip kept her head lowered, face hidden in the long curtain of her bangs. She felt like she was six again.

"Alrigh', le's start from the most obvious question. How the fuck did ye get in the trunk?" Connor began, crossing his arms.

"Snuck in." She mumbled, scuffing her shoes against the pavement. Sharing a glance before turning it back onto her, the boys waited for her to elaborate. When it was made clear she wouldn't be speaking unless spoken to, something remarkably out of the ordinary for her it was almost hilarious, Connor continued.

"Dare I ask wha' ye're plan was?" Her chin shifted, telling him she was chewing on her lip. A nervous habit. That alone told him everything, but for the sake of keeping an open mind, he would hear her out.

"Well…" She trailed off, searching for anything that would make this less hard to swallow.

"Hey! What the fuck's goin' on?" Cried out Rocco, still sitting in the backseat. Poking his head out of the window, craning his neck for a better view, he offered an impatient gesture.

Murphy waved him off. "It's jus' Pip. Tried stowin' away."

"Oh," Rocco replied, as though that were the most unassuming, obvious answer he had ever heard in his life, and ducked back into the car.

"Right. As I was sayin'," Connor spoke up once more, turning a hard eye back to Pippin, who had taken to shifting her weight to one leg every couple of seconds, swaying back and forth as she did so.

"I just wanted to help." She murmured, her voice, though still soft, was uncharacteristically weak.

"By doin' wha'? Bustin' outta the trunk an' takin' out armed mafiosos with yer fingernail file?" Murphy sneered, hands on his hips as he closed in and stuck his face almost right against her own.

The transformation that occurred at that moment was something truly incredible. Her head snapped up in less than a second, and her quivering lips pressed together tightly to form a hard, white line. There was a dangerous flash in her brown eyes, and her rosy cheeks were no longer cute and pudgy as they burned fiercely.

"Go fuck a toaster, Murphy!" She snarled, upper lip twitching over nearly bared teeth.

"Ye better watch it, Pip, cause I swear te Christ if ye don' stay outta our business, I'm gonna-"

"What? What will you do? Shoot me in the head? Say a little prayer for me? What'll ya do, Murph?" She cut in, the challenge in her voice rising higher and higher as she thrust her face into his, daring him to say more. Connor pulled him away as quick as he started forward, shoving him back and ducking in front of Pippin to serve as a protective barrier between the two.

"Alrigh' tha's enough! The both o' ye jus' grow the fuck up and calm down!" Connor roared over the explosive shouts that melted together into a incomprehensible mess of anger. It was completely futile, of course.

"You've been acting like some fucking psycho possessive boyfriend ever since I found out about this whole thing! What the hell is wrong with you, huh? Are you so fucking insecure that you're afraid a girl might kick just as much ass? Worried that I'll steal all your thunder? Or maybe you just don't want to share the limelight 'cause you're so goddamn pathetic that you can't do anything other than put a bullet in someone's head!"

"Ye go' no righ' sneakin' around' and nosin' yer way into our business! Ye're such a fuckin' busy-body, ye always gotta get in the way and mess everyt'in' up, don'cha? T'ink if ye butt in enough, p'aple won' see ye're jus' a scared li'l g'arl tryin' te make everyone love ye much as they love yer perfect fuckin' sister an' yer faggot of a bro'der! Ye can' be pretty an' wonderful as she is, so ye gotta shove yer way into our t'ing so ye fuckin' feel like somebody!"

Pippin's face went from red to purple, and as she dove forward, there was the look of murder flaring in her eyes. Murphy, however, moved in to meet her assault, white-knuckled and bright-eyed. Connor's last shred of patience fluttered out the door as he dove in between the two, knowing that look in his sibling's eye anywhere. Flinging them back with another push of strength, he turned a pointed finger on both, freezing them in their place.

"Now chill the fuck out, the two o' ye." He growled, glaring pointedly. "Firs' off, Murph, I'll handle this. Ye ge' yer arse back in the fuckin' car, an' wait!" Though his contempt was obvious, Murphy obeyed with a moment's delay and a diamond-hard scowl. With his steps swallowing huge strides, he stormed back to the car and dove back into shotgun, slamming the door with barely contained violence. Though it was muffled to point of inaudibility, it was clear he was screaming the explanation of his mood to a poor, unsuspecting Rocco.

Heaving a great sigh, Connor turned back to Pippin, who was still visibly fuming. His face softened, lips pressing together as he considered what to do. Dealing with Murphy was one thing; his dumb twat of a twin was incredibly easy to chastise, and his remarkable mood swings were predictable after twenty-seven years. Pippin, however, was a horse of a different color; besides being a girl (something he had to constantly remind himself of), she had a more volatile temper than his brother did. Not to mention the fact she probably hit harder as well.

"Alrigh', now calmly explain te me wha' ye were tryin' te do."

"I just wanted to help, that's all! I bet I could be just as good at fighting bad guys as you two, but you both treat me like some annoying neighbor kid that always causes nothing but trouble!" She wailed, her voice choked as her face suddenly began to contort. Quickly she turned her back to him before a single tear could be squeezed out, and pressed her hands against her face to smooth it away. When she turned to face him a second time, anger highlighted her features once more.

"Pip," Connor sighed, shuffling forward with arms extended. Wrapping them around her, pulling her in close, he threw in a small squeeze for measure. "Ye know tha' ain' true. Murph an' I love ye te death."

"Then why won't you let me help?" She said, muffled from her mouth being pressed against his shoulder. It sounded like a few tears had snuck in, but he couldn't have been too sure.

"We don' want ye gettin' hurt s'all. 'specially Murph."

"Why, 'cause he's too fucking chicken?" She grumbled, moving away from him and passing her arm over the underside of her nose, sniffing loudly. Still her eyes were dry.

"Murph's a few t'ings he needs workin' on. Tha's no' the point, though. Fact is, wha' ye did was stupid as fuck, an' if ye had gotten hurt in anyway, no' only would we have neve' f'ergiven ourselves, bu' I'm pretty sure ye're bro'der an' yer sister would've killed our arses twice ove'."

"Yeah. I guess." She muttered, casting her head down.

Lifting his gloved hand and setting it upon the crown of her head, he let it sit there a moment before it moved to her cheek and cupped it. Rubbing his thumb against the curve of her cheekbone, he chuckled softly. "Ye really are a hellion, ye know tha'?"

"So I've heard," Pippin muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Anyway, I'm sure Macho Murph's cooled down by now. Hop in the back."

Instantly, her widened eyes and the color in her face brightened as her jaw fell open. "Does this mean I can come with you?" She whispered excitedly, bouncing up onto the balls of her feet. Connor just watched her a moment, mildly incredulous. Sometimes it was so easy to forget she was only seven years younger than him. It wasn't just her appearance that was excessively youthful, she really was like a child sometimes.

Yet that's where it got confusing; she no longer had the innocence of a child. The wide-eyed awe of the world had remained firmly intact, as did the incessant curiosity and the high-spirited immaturity, but there was no innocence anymore. In fact, the brilliant light in her eyes seemed more like madness to him. It was uneasy, yet strangely endearing. He felt as though it were as much a duty to shelter her away from the world as it was taking out the evil men in it. Suddenly he was starting to see where Murphy was coming from.

"Fuck no. Bu' we can' leave ye on the street eithe'. Ye'll jus' have te come wit' us an' wait in the car." He replied, striding past her to return to the driver's seat, leaving her to stand there with a strangled expression on her face.

"You're such a fucking killjoy!" She cried out.

* * *

"Here, ye can have this knife. Tha' one ye carry 'round is way too big," Connor remarked as he took up a small pocket knife from the table. Flipping out the blade and turning it in his gloved hands to inspect it carefully, its blunt luster was captured in the sunlight that filtered in through the window. Shrugging, he snapped it back into its sheath and lifted his head to toss it with a light underhanded throw. Catching it clumsily, Murphy slid the blade back out to scrutinize it himself. He gestured his displeasure with a lifted, upturned hand and an offended scowl.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair nearby, Pippin watched with heavy boredom, her chipmunk cheeks resting atop both fists. "Is this gonna take a long time? Don't you guys have douchecocks to kill?" She whined in a low voice, unfurling her legs to move out of the chair. Coming to stand beside Murphy, she could feel his muscles harden, his entire being tensing up as her shoulder brushed against his arm. All three men ignored her question.

The four had stopped by the brothers' apartment to pick up a few toys. After a car ride full of awkward silences, awkward glances in the rear and side view mirrors, and even more awkward apologizing for making total asses of themselves, Pippin and Murphy had haphazardly patched up their already tumultuous friendship. If one asked Rocco or Connor, the sexual tension somehow became thicker. But to the two parties involved, things really hadn't changed much from before. Naturally, it was all Murphy's fault. And Pippin's breasts, apparently.

And as Murphy was wont to do, he avoided eye contact with the redhead as much as humanely possible. She, however, was drilling holes in the back of his head with staring. Being fully aware of this, Murphy threw his concentration into carefully selecting his weapons.

"Are ye fuckin' kiddin' me? This t'ing's dull as Ben fuckin' Stein." He whined, his arm swinging out until the blade pointed towards Pippin. Leaning far away from him, nearly bending at a complete ninety degree angle to the left, she pushed it back in front of his chest, her expression comically exaggerated.

"Bueller. Buuuueller," Pippin drawled in a nasal monotone, her eyes hooded and expression flat once she was fully upright. Shooting a wry, reluctant grin at her, Murphy shook his head before his attention was directed to his brother once again.

"No t'isn't.. Good'n sharp. Try it out fer yerself," Connor reassured, showing them his back as he turned away to busy himself with his own weapons, the sound of clicks and weighted metal scraping against wood filling the quiet room. Rocco, meanwhile, was off in the corner, attempting to twirl his guns and doing a very poor job at it.

Glancing back down at the offending knife, Murphy's deep blue eyes rolled to the side. "Fuck ye mean try it out? Try it out on wha'?"

"Go slice me a piece of cake. I'm hungry," Pippin mumbled, throwing her entire body against his side, knocking him into a small stumble.

"Like ye need any more." He replied, finally turning his full attention on her as he angled himself to face her, poking the swell of her hip with his free index finger. Frowning slightly, she pressed a hand against her belly and pushed it out, rubbing it in circular motions. She glanced down to see the white tips of her Chucks Taylors stick out of her stomach like bunny ears, and giggled.

"I shall call it…Fernando." She declared, pronouncing the name with a thick Spanish accent. All three men snorted loudly.

"Pip, ye ain' fat," Connor said with assurance, head still bent over his guns.

"Ya just have more to love," Rocco added, quickly sneaking a pinch of her side as he walked past to join Connor. Ducking away a moment too late, she curled in a defensive ball and giggled hysterically, which prompted Rocco to halt instantly and stare with a quizzical expression. "Ticklish much?

"Fag much? Who the hell has a penis and says anything ending with 'much'?"

"Suck my left nut." Rocco shot back.

"Whip it out." Pippin countered, her chin jutting forward.

"T'ree t'ings," Connor cut in, glancing back over his shoulder at the two. "Pip, ye're no' fat. Ye have a p'arfectly lovely fi'gure, and ye should be damn proud te have it. Lot o' lasses would kill fer yer tits an' hips, ye know. An' quick fuckin' 'round, we're in'na hurry."

"That was only two thing." Pippin replied dryly.

"Oh. An' ye're both fags." He said absentmindedly, minding his guns once again.

"Murph's gotta part with his compensation knife first," she answered, turning on heel to return to Murphy's side and stick her face up close to his.

"Can' if I have this piece o' shit." He said with a roll of his eyes. "It's dull as fuck, Connor." With that, he tossed it back onto the table with a clatter.

"It's fuckin' fine, Murph. Quick bein' an eejit."

"I'm not! Look, this couldn' fuckin' cut hair. See, watch…" He trailed off, taking up a sizable chunk of Pippin's hair, now freed it from its ponytail. Pulling it away from the side of her face and holding it down taunt, he placed the exposed blade between her locks and jaw, and with a single, clean swipe, sliced a good twelve inches off. As he held the tresses in one hand, knife in the other, he turned back to face Connor with a smug, superior smirk.

"See? Jus' like I told ye, it couldn'…" As Murphy's words slowed to a stop, his smirk fell away to melt into an expression of muted dismay, and his head reluctantly turned to see the long red hair held limp in his hand. After a long stare at it, he peered over at Pippin, and the severity of his fear leap to an insurmountable degree as he took in her horror-struck face. "…Oh, shit." He murmured softly, both arms lowering as he carefully inched away. Her hand slowly lifted to lightly finger the shorn tresses, but he caught it halfway and placed the handful in her slack grip, arm fully extended as he leaned out.

"My…you cut my…" Pippin's voice had actually managed to fall below a whisper. Connor and Rocco could only stare in silence, not sure if they should intervene or just let her tear his head off. Either way, all they could do was watch.

"Now, Pip, no use in getting' pissed. It's jus' hair ye know, an' I-" Murphy began to babble nonstop, his words melding together into incomprehensible gibberish as he swiftly moved away from the advancing Pippin, whose expression was nothing short of luridly nightmarish. Tripping over chairs and stumbling away clumsily, he finally managed to press himself up against the wall. Alas, the door was still a mite too far.

Inching along the wall, he could feel his stomach plunging lower and lower, his face ashen. As for Pippin, she was like a territorial bulldog. Knocking away chairs and any other obstacles, she approached even faster, head down and hands fixed into claws. "You better run, dead man!" She roared, prompting Murphy's brain to kick start movement into his legs.

Unfortunately for him, Pippin was a lot faster than any of the boys could have predicted.

* * *

"You, stay the fuck here," Connor demanded, cementing the command with a hard stare and an even harder point of his gloved finger. The other hand was dragging a scowling, battered Murphy out of shotgun. A thin strip of tape straddled his slightly bent nose, and both eyes were darkened with purple, blue, and black bruises. He also sported a few scratches, a swollen bottom lip, and a band-aid over his eyebrow. Behind them, Rocco pinched his lips together, trying to keep from laughing hysterically.

"But what if I-" Pippin cut in before her silence was finalized with an increase in the intensity of Connor's glare. And with that, the trio departed, leaving her in the backseat of her sister's crappy little Corolla, completely alone, defenseless, and parked before a building that held armed mafia soldiers within. Hopefully we see where this would be a problem, yes?

Laying on her side, the frayed ends of her mutilated hair scratching at the tan leather interior, she sighed heavily and dug through her coat pocket until her phone was in hand. Punching the buttons with slow, despondent movements, she could feel her lip puckering out in a pout when the cold plastic was pressed to her face. It rang twice before a low, familiar, and irritatingly sarcastic voice answered.

"_Let me guess. They caught you," _Lily said, amusement coloring her tone.

"Yeah. And then they cut my hair off," Pippin replied dully.

There was a short pause on the other end. _"…What?"_

"Murph was playing 'Whose Dick's Bigger' with Connor, and tried to prove how dull his knife was by cutting my hair. Turns out, Connor was right."

"_Isn't he usually?"_

"As much as he can be."

"_Jesus. So how short are we talking here?"_

"Well… Did you ever see the movie _Ghost_?"

Another pause. _"Are you fucking kidding me?"_

"Demi Moore would be proud."

"_What'd you do?"_

"Oh, I kicked the shit out of him. Now I'm a hero in Rocco's eyes, Connor can't decide if he's proud or annoyed, and Murph's not talking to me. Again."

"_Is there absolutely no saving it?"_

"Well, I guess you could always weave it back in."

"_Oh __**hail**__ no. I'm good, but I'm not that good. You can go ahead and kiss your long and luscious locks goodbye."_

Pippin frowned, taking a chunk of untouched hair between her fingers, toying with the strands and watching the red of the fresh dye catch the light. "I guess it _is _time I got a hair cut. But damn, Lil, I was trying so hard to grow it back."

"_Don't sweat it, Peaches, I will personally see to it that you look cute as hell. We'll make Murphy sweat his balls off," _Lily replied flippantly, a devilish edge to her voice. In the background, the sound of rustling papers could have been heard. She must have been doing her homework; even cosmetology students had to hit the books occasionally.

"Like he doesn't already," Pippin said with a roll of her eyes, flipping over to lie on her other side and trace out an invisible picture on the seat with her index finger. "I just don't see why he can't grow a pair and tell me how he feels."

"_Wait, do you suddenly like him now, or…what?"_

"Nah. Don't get me wrong, I'd fuck him stupid. I mean, he's one hot muffin fresh outta the oven. He just…I dunno. Not my type."

Pippin could almost hear the disparaging eye roll through the phone, and therefore wasn't all too shocked at the tone Lily replied with. _"Are you kidding? What do you mean he's not your type? You two were practically conceived at the same time. If there was a God, he would've mapped you two out from the start."_

"Oh, please. If that's the case, then Connor would be perfect for me, too."

"_I though you said he was hot for Holly?"_

"He is. It's only too obvious every time she walks in front of him. I can practically hear his dick screaming, 'Dem goods are bought and paid for, son!'"

Before responding, Lily snorted. _"Clever. How __**do**__ you do it?"_

"I actually eat things with a face."

"_Ugh! You carnivores are all the same. Why you gotta hate on the vegetarians?"_

"Because you might as well masturbate with a carrot stick. And it's fun to fuck with vegetables." She paused, losing track of what her unseen picture was at this point. "That was a retard joke, by the way."

"_Yeah, I gathered_._"_ The smile in Lily's voice was loud enough to be deafening. _"You realize that you're pretty much the only one who knows about your war on political correctness, right?"_

"I'm like a struggling band; people will get me eventually."

"_As you bum from your girlfriend and beat off to Dazed and Confused."_

"Hey, Jason London is hot and you know it!" Pippin defended, her own smile getting the better of her.

"_Uh-huh, can we go back to a more pressing matter at hand, here?"_

"What, my hair?"

"_That, too, but I was more so talking about this rom-com bullshit you have with Murphy. Stop dancing around it and fuck each other already. It's getting painful." _

"I told you before, I'd tap dat ass any day. It's all a question of whether or not his cock can summon the power of Grayskull and acknowledge that I'd be the best lay of his life," Pippin said with a dismissive tone, somehow shrugging despite the fact she had a shoulder immobilized from her weight.

"_And be so humble about it, too."_

"Well, I try."

"_Shit or get off the pot, Pip. At the very least, say something. I know a man suffering from blue balls when I see one."_

"Why, because you single-handedly give it to a third of the American male population per capita?"

"_Yeah, that, too." _

Pippin sighed as her hands found her shorn hair again. "Listen, they should be done with this job soon. Can we swing by your place later so you can recruit me?"

"_I'm sure it's not that bad. Certainly not enough to be considered a recruit."_

"I'm going to pretend that was a yes and a six o'clock."

Lily snorted again. _"Fine. But make it six-thirty. I have class at four."_

"Schweet. This is why it would take minimal booze for me to consider lesbianism for you, Lil."

"_I __**am**__ pretty sexy."_

"And modest to boot."

"_Yeah yeah. Also, what's the story we're going with here? Unless of course they know I know who they are."_

"Nope. So far, only Holly and I know about it. Quote, unquote. And we'll say I got it caught in a blender."

"_Ooh, creative. But are you gonna tell them anytime soon?"_

"Why should I? They have other things to worry about, and it's not like you guys will rat on them. Besides, you'd think it was obvious by now that nothing goes by without you, Jude, and Ellie knowing, too."

"_I could be wrong here, but I'm almost sure they're not fully aware of that little circle of trust thing we have going on."_

Pippin was quiet as she contemplated that. "Eh, they'll figure it out eventually."

There was a dry chuckle whispering in her ear as Lily shook her head. _"I swear, Peaches, if you were a dude, you'd be a rapist."_

"Ouch, why's that?"

"_Because you're as close to a sociopath as humanely possible without actually being clinically labeled."_

"Actually, I am. Or so my doctor thinks. Not sure why since I still have to go in and have him poke at my brain once a month."

"'_Least you got the boys out of it."_

Pippin could feel her lips pulling up involuntarily. "That's true. I did."

The sound of gunshots abruptly ripped through the silence that enclosed her shortly after her statement. With a jump, she felt herself become a bit smaller, curling up in a tighter ball and feeling strangely worn all of a sudden. Birds of all sizes and colors took to the skies, their wings flapping frantically as they circled the area in a confused panic. In the words of Obi-wan Kenobi, she could feel a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced.

Well, maybe just three or four.

"_The hell was that?"_

"The end of a job."

"_Oh." _A long, awkward silence enfolded as both girls searche for some way to change the subject. Unfortunately, Pippin couldn't find anything that could overpower the fact a murder had just taken place. Lily seemed to not mind that at all, however. "_Think there was a lot of blood?"_

"Probably. At least the walls have a new paint job."

"_Gross. You watch way too many scary movies."_

"I can't help it. I follow the Church of Hitchcock." Inching along the seats, Pippin pulled herself up to peek out the window, her eyes, brows, and the top of her head the only thing visible when seen from the outside. No sign of the boys; they were probably doing the usual ritual. "Anyway, I'd better go. They catch me talking on the phone, I might get in bigger trouble."

"_Right-o. I'll see you later, Peaches."_

"Thanks, Gingersnap." There was a click as the line went dead. Flipping the phone closed, Pippin released an involuntary sigh and tucked it away inside her bra. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, was our Clusterfuck of the Day."


	10. In Which Lily Spills the Awkward Beans

_I see you, the only one who knew me_

_And now your eyes see through me_

_I guess I was wrong_

_So what now? It's plain to see we're over, and I hate when things are over _

_When so much is left undone_

**~Breakfast at Tiffany's, by Deep Blue Something~**

Pippin dismally watched as another lock of her damp hair slid down the black cape, catching on the slope of her breasts, and falling into her lap when she blew a small, encouraging breath. It seemed to stare back mournfully, like it was Ingrid Bergman and she was Humphrey Bogart. "I'm not doing this to hurt you. I just think we need to see other people." She murmured sadly, nodding along with her words. Behind her, she could feel another tug on the back of her head.

"Are you breaking up with your hair?" Lily asked in a low drawl, and Pippin could practically hear the puzzled arch in her eyebrow. "And unless you want to look like an extra from _Hair_, I suggest you stop moving."

"All good things must come to an end." She replied with a wistful melancholy, turning her head to dolefully stare out of the window.

At their right, Connor released a loud snort. "Ye're a complete nutte', Pip." Reaching into his coat pocket, he paused to glance up at Lily. "Oy, Lil, can I smoke in here?"

"Sure, go for it." She answered, brows knitted together as she began to taper the shorn locks on the back of Pippin's head, cutting downward with her tiny, silver scissors. The water logged hair that fell to the floor landed heavily, making Pippin wince when the sound reached her ears. Her head was becoming lighter and lighter, air traveling freely around her now exposed neck. Connor began to tap his cigarette pack against the flat of his palm, and it drew her attention from the intricate painting upon the wall. Her wandering eyes went from the cigarette box to the hard stare of Murphy, who sat beside his brother with a pained look similar to her own. Whether it was because of feeling guilty for slicing her hair off, or the beating he received from it, she wasn't sure.

They stared at each other for a moment, feeling the shame of their anger and irritation. It was a quiet ebb and flow of nagging; an unscratchable itch on the back of their brains. Fact of the matter was, neither of them could've stayed mad at the other for too long. Murphy knew it was because it was downright impossible for_ any_one to stay cross with Pippin; she still managed to make you laugh, no matter how nosy and foul-tempered she was. Pippin knew it was because Murphy was too much of a fucking softie, particularly when it came to her. It was obvious who had lost the battle.

"I'm sorry I cut yer hair, Pip. I didn' mean te." He mumbled, twisting his hands together, trying to resist the urge to bite his nails more towards the quick.

"It's okay, Murph." She said, a smile blooming on her lips. "I'm sorry I beat the shit out of you."

With a smirk, he nodded. "S'alrigh'."

"Aw, see, now don' ye two feel bette'?" Connor gushed, muffled from the cigarette that bobbed up and down between his lips. Throwing his arms around his startled sibling, he began to rock back and forth, raving about something in baby talk. Neither of the girls could really understand a word he was saying.

"Fuckin' shut it!" Murphy grumbled, shoving him off.

"Assert ye're feeeelin's, Murph. Only then can ye truly looove!" Connor egged on, his eyelashes fluttering as he dramatically placed the back of his hand against his brow, the other clasped against his chest.

"See, this is why we can't have nice things, Connor." Rocco suddenly cut in, entering the room with a slice of partially eaten, cold pizza in his hand.

"Why?"

"Because you're a fag."

"You're all fags as far as I'm concerned." Lily spoke up, tussling Pippin's hair so that any clippings clinging to the damp locks would fall away. A shower of dark strands rained down, some perching atop Pippin's scrunched up nose and cheekbones. Lily moved in front of her, dusting her face off with the rag that hung across her shoulder, and bent forward to stick her face close to Pippin's. Her fingers pinching two locks that framed her face, Lily slowly ran them down the length of the shorn hair, measuring the symmetry.

"Alright, you're good to go. Did you want to dye it back, or keep the color you have?"

Pippin was quiet as she considered that, and as silence closed over them all, Murphy watched her carefully, taking in the details of her face. Though her hair was matted down and tussled, already the transformation was starting to set in; with her long, beautiful neck exposed, her cheeks seemed slimmer, her nose more narrow. It was as though all the childish plumpness in her face was directly tied to her hair.

"You know what? Why not. Everything else in my life is changing. Why not embrace it completely?" All four of the people around her unconsciously grinned.

"Alright, we're going balls to the walls!" Lily cheered, turning away to jog into the back room, reemerging a moment later with a bowl, a box of dye, foil, and a long, thin brush. "Dark golden brown, right?" She asked as she arranged everything on the table beside Pippin's chair, head bent over her tools.

"Yeah. Let's go a little lighter, though. My natural color makes me look really pasty." Pippin replied, expression thoughtful.

"Right-o, Peaches." Lily chirped, setting to work on Pippin's hair.

"Thanks, Gingersnap." She chuckled, her muscles gradually loosening as her scalp was massaged.

"Eh?" Connor regarded both girls with a puzzled expression, his brow lifting as he brought the filter away from his lips, a curtain of smoke floating across his face. "Peaches?"

"Gingersnap?" Murphy followed up, his own face duplicating Connor's.

"Our nicknames for each other." Lily explained with a fond smile, her translucent gloves already smeared in dark dye, the bottle that was being squeezed directly against Pippin's scalp half empty at this point.

"Lily and I had the same first grade class. That's where we met." Pippin said, glancing over at them in the corner of her eye.

"She was five, I was six." Lily added, to which Pippin replied with a nod.

"Anyway, so we had the same class, and we were pretty much the same back then as we are now."

"She was the weird kid in the class…" Lily sighed through a grin.

"And she was Miss Prissy Pants Fashionista." Pippin muttered with a roll of her eyes and a jab of her thumb towards Lily.

"So we didn't get along at first. I thought she was a freak, she thought I was a snob. Didn't mesh well."

"But then one day, we're all having our lunch in class, because our school was too broke to have a real fucking cafeteria."

"My mom packs me some peaches, forgetting that I'm allergic to them…"

"And Holly packs me gingersnaps, forgetting that I hate the taste."

"Wait, Holly packed your lunch?" Rocco cut in, waving his hand for attention. "Why didn't your Mom do it?"

"She died." Pippin answered promptly, detachedly, her wide eyes blinking innocently as though it were a trivial subject. It was so matter-of-fact, the boys were more startled than saddened.

It took a second for Rocco to find his voice. "What about your Dad?"

"He doesn't like me." She said, once again so nonchalant, it was unnerving. But this time, she didn't blink. At all. Her eyes were too wide, too clear. The scary thing about it was, it wasn't a lie. Honestly, how _could _you respond to something like that?

"Um, anyway, moving on." Lily said quickly after the silence was held a bit too long, setting the bottle down and placing a cap over Pippin's shining, blackened hair. Seemed she knew something they didn't.

"Yeah. So, she and I are sitting across from each other, staring down at the offending items. We look up at each other, look at the food, each other, the food…"

"And then she smiles at me, holding out the bag of gingersnaps." Lily said with a wistful grin, reminiscence clouding her hazel eyes. "That was the moment I knew I had a friend for life."

"Hey, now, Lil. Don't be getting mushy on me." Pippin teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, shut up." Lily grumbled, flicking a dye-stained ear. "But, yeah, we traded. But since we didn't remember each other's names, I called her Peaches."

"And I called her Gingersnap."

"Been friends ever since." The boys were quiet a bit longer, watching the two girls. The surprise of Pippin's blasé statements had come and gone, as it was a subject that she felt needed no mentioning. Now their focus was pulled to Lily, who blissfully swept away all of the hair cutting supplies from the table, leaving only a brush and hair dryer.

Even she was drastically different from when they had first met her. She was clearly a good person, particularly when it involved friendship. Perhaps she, like Pippin, simply needed getting used to. Now they felt bad for ever making fun of her.

"Any other embarrassin' stories ye need te tell us?" Connor said after a moment, smiling mischievously and snubbing out his stubby cigarette.

"Oh, I can tell you what Pip was like in high school."

"You traitor!" Pippin cried, whipping around in her seat so fast, there was a loud series of muted pops as her back cracked. Falling limp in her chair, she closed her eyes and sighed. "Just make it quick."

"Two words; blue. Mohawk."

"Oh God!" Pippin moaned in anguish, covering her face with her hands.

"Whooooa, what?" Rocco again waved as Connor and Murphy began to howl with laughter, forming this ridiculous picture in their heads.

"Oh yeah. Pip had a Mohawk her sophomore year of high school. Electric, fuckin' blue with hot pink tips, about two and a half feet tall when she gelled it up. It was gorgeous." Lily paused to smile wickedly. "You know, for a Mohawk."

"Fuck off."

"And when she did it in Liberty spikes, she'd weave shit in between them, like toy snakes and shit. It was a total work of art."

"Lily was more about the clothes." Pippin put in, gazing over at the three incredulously amused faces. "She was a girlier punk; wore mostly skirts with her combat boots and all that."

"Oh God, do you remember that half-shirt I had? The one made out of safety pins?"

"Yeah. And I remember wanting to steal it all the time. But I had the zebra-print instep creepers with the four inch platform heel, so…whatev's."

"Oh, yeah, I remember those. God, they were sexy. So was that leather jacket you had."

"Still have it. Somewhere."

"Yeah, but even with her amazing Technicolor hair, one thing that could've been said about Pip was that she pulled the most legendary prank of all time."

"Fuck." Pippin said, letting her face fall into her hand again.

"Yep. The senior prank." Lily said with reverence.

"Except that I was a junior." Pippin pointed out.

"A minor detail." Lily said casually with a carefree wave of her hand.

"Wha' happened?" Murphy demanded excitedly, his eyes bright with eagerness.

"While everyone was in their first period class, Pip was excused to go to the bathroom. She sneaks off to the C wing of the school, the biggest wing _in_ the fucking school, and starts unscrewing all the nails in the doorknobs of the classroom doors. Everyone was trapped inside, and ended up being late for the next few classes. They had to call the janitors to pry open the doors so everyone could get out."

"And I almost got away with it, too, if it hadn't of been for those meddling kids." Pippin said, shaking her fist.

"Or the fact they caught the top of your cranial art piece on the security cameras."

"That too."

"Oh, and then there was the time she set lose a few pigs in the school, and had the numbers 1, 2, and 4 painted on their sides. Or the time you rallied the Drama Club into ruining the year book picture of the faculty." Lily said with a laugh. "She and the Drama club somehow got on the roof, and dumped buckets of green Jell-O on all of the teachers and staff as they were getting their group shot done in front of the school. It was brilliant."

"And then there was the time Ellie and I hung hundreds of thongs from that big oak tree in the courtyard."

"The blow-up sex doll being tossed around at the graduation ceremony… Oh, and when you shaved your head, drew a face on the back of it, and walked up to the principle backwards to shake his hand and get your diploma."

"The tuna in the ventilation ducts…"

"Replacing all the jock straps in the boy's locker room with sock puppets…"

"Oh, and the cherry bomb in the faculty bathroom."

"Jesus, yeah I remember that one. Kai helped me, though."

"And when you popped the top off all the sprinklers so that the water shot up twelve feet like a geyser."

"Awww yeeeah." Pippin said with a slow nod. "That one was my favorite."

"Sweet Christ almighty, ye were jus' a li'l fuckin' hellion, weren' ch'ye?" Murphy cried, his eyebrows lifted high.

"Yep. She was a legend." Lily said with weary amusement and a shake of her head. Removing the cap from Pippin's head, she began to pick through the roots, checking the color. "What's even funnier is all the teachers absolutely loved her."

"I made up for my pranking with actually being a decent student." Pippin explained with a wry grin. "I got shit done before I got shit _done_."

"Ye said ye were in Drama Club, that doesn' shock me." Connor chuckled, reaching for his forgotten bottle of Smithwicks on the table beside the couch.

"Oh yeah, I was captain of our school's improv troupe. I was co-captain my sophomore year, then when Jack left, I took over my junior and senior year. I wasn't in very many plays, though. Not really my cup of tea."

"She was usually stage manager or something. Although sometimes you headed make-up and costume."

"Yeah. And props. I was only an actor in, like, four of our plays. Our director always insisted I play the lead male. I put my foot down when one of my parts called for kissing my friend, Jessica. She was my leading lady, if you will. I said, 'Aw hail nah'."

"Jus' like tha', eh?" Murphy said through a grin.

"Fuck yeah."

"Alright, chola, you're all done. Go wash." Lily muttered, eyes rolling heavenward.

"Already?"

"Yeah, it only takes about twenty minutes for it to set in. Your hair's short now, remember, doofus? Plus, I thinned it out."

"Oh, duh." Hopping up and draping the cape over the back of the chair, Pippin quickly dusted any stray hair from her front and made her way to the kitchen. The sound of running water soon followed. As they waited for her to return, Lily began to sweep up the pile of hair that surrounded the foot of the chair. There was so much of it, she had to dump the dustpan four times before it was cleared away.

"I don't know how she had all this hair without her neck snapping from the weight. Seriously, this woman's hair grows like a fucking weed."

"If she went from a Mohawk to all tha' from high school te now, I'd say so."

"No, she shaved her head completely at the end of senior year. Her hair was so fucked up from all the product and dye she used, she went back to square one."

"Damn, how old were you guys when you graduated?"

"She graduated when she was seventeen. Got to skip her last year of middle school and dive straight into high school."

"Wow, really?"

"Pip's a lot smarter than she acts." Lily assured with lifted brows and a nod, kicking the trash can up against the wall. "She almost made salutatorian, but math was her Achilles heel. Couldn't get higher than a B+."

"Trigonometry was the biggest bitch of 'em all." Pippin said as she entered the room, scrubbing her head with a towel and dropping back down into the chair.

"Yes, we all know of your losing battle with the Dread Pirate Roberts."

"Dread Pirate Roberts? Like…like in the Princess Bride?" Rocco asked, a thick brow arched in confusion.

"My Trig teacher's name was Mr. Roberts. Everyone called him Dread Pirate Roberts because of his cute little habit of failing the shit out of you if you so much as looked at him cross-eyed."

"Whatever, you loved him." Lily said dryly.

"…Yeah, I really did. He was the shit." Pippin admitted in a low voice before all sound was drowned out by the whine of the hair dryer.

The boys watched as Lily tossed Pippin's hair about, brushing it in several different directions, waving the hair dryer back and forth as the dark, matted tresses slowly turned a fetching shade of rich, chocolate brown.

"Alright, ladies and ladies," Lily announced as the dryer was turned off and set to the side, "I give you…my masterpiece!"

With a flourish, the chair whirled around, and Pippin's final look was at last presented.

It had been cut and layered skillfully to fall just above her shoulders, and something about the tousled locks softened the lines and curves of her face, making her appear even more feminine. Her bangs were the same length as before, if much more textured, and framing her face were neatly layered pieces that disguised the brutal slicing Murphy had done. Quite frankly, it suit her better than probably any other hairstyle on the planet.

"Wow, look at you." Rocco praised first, brows lifted in surprise. "You look like that chick in Breakfast at Tiffany's."

"Audrey Hepburn?" Lily guessed with a quizzical brow.

"Yeah, tha's who I was t'inkin' of, too." Connor added. "Ye look great, Pip."

"Thanks, guys." She said with a wide, dimpling smile. "What do you think, Murph?"

Murphy remained quiet, still taking in the change. It was amazing, really, how something as small as a haircut could completely alter how a person looked. Coupled with her large, luminescent eyes and round cheeks, the whole picture fit like a perfect puzzle. What's more, the style seemed to have a slimming effect on her entire body as well. Now that her hair was drawing more attention to her face, she looked a bit taller, which made her waist even more trim. Her thighs didn't look quite as thick, and her bust seemed less pronounced.

"Murph?"

"Uh, yeah! Yeah, ye look good, Pip. Real good." He stumbled, feeling a dose of color rise past his collar.

"Thanks." She replied, softer than before, her smile gentle.

A lingering silence blanketed the group as the two stared at each other, Murphy tracing the lines of Pippin's face as her smile became more awkward with the passing seconds. But, of course, a certain someone had to ruin that completely.

"…So does this mean ye're gonna fuck 'er now?"

"God damn it, Connor!" Murphy growled, throwing a well-aimed smack to the back of his brother's head.

"Seriously, get it over with." Said the last person anyone expected to speak up then. With identical faces of shock, both glanced over to see a frowning Lily, who turned away to gather the last of her supplies. Bent over the table, setting things in her arms, her frown deepened. "Now it's just sad."

With that, she left behind a very long, awkward silence as she retreated into her room.

* * *

The dreams about Pippin were getting worse. If he had to endure another fantasy about her breasts being just a loosened thread away from busting out of a corset one more time, he was going to slip into a coma. Last night was probably the worst one; he was the innocent photographer, she was the comely young pin-up model. She also managed to get his pants around his ankles before he finally woke up. It had ended…sticky.

He knew it had come about because of that damn haircut, which he could really only blame on himself. With a long sigh of frustration, he turned on his side, tucking clasped hands under his cheek and attempted to ignore his brother's snoring. It was about six in the morning on his guess; too early to be early for work, too late to fight his way back into sleep. As he pondered what to do, his eyes fell upon the bent spine of a book, emptied beer bottles and boxes of Chinese take-out cluttered around it. Pushing back the debris, carefully extracting the book from the clutches of the garbage, Murphy flipped it over and wiggled his way up the bed, using his pillows to prop himself up into a more comfortable reading position. Holding the book in one hand, his free arm was brought back to pillow his head.

The book, _War for the Oaks_, had been borrowed from Pippin, who insisted that he read it a couple weeks ago. Apparently it was "the greatest fucking book of all time." While certainly an interesting read, and definitely one to keep the pages turning, he wouldn't go so far as to call it that. What struck him most about the story, besides the interesting use of diction and beautifully descriptive imagery, was the main character, an eccentric musician named Eddi. She had intrigued him from the start for reasons he couldn't place, and it was only until she had discovered the mystery surrounding her heritage did he truly see why.

She was so like the girl that had taken residence in his mind, it was uncanny. The vivid imagination, the loneliness of being so different from others, the intense independence and overwhelming need to stand on her own two feet. This wasn't helping him at all. His eyes took in the last paragraph some twenty minutes later, and he surrendered to yet another sigh before closing the book. He couldn't stop himself when his cell phone came to be in his hand, punching in an all-too familiar number.

"_You have three seconds to explain why you're calling me at seven in the morning._" A groggy, husky voice said after about four rings.

"Sorry. I finally finished _War for the Oaks_."

"_Seriously? Awesome! How was it?_" She asked, the sleepiness quickly replaced with excitement.

"Awesome. A li'l confusin' at firs', but afte' awhile, everyt'in' kinda fell into place."

"_Totally weren't expecting it, were you?_"

"I'll admit, there were some parts tha' had me turnin' back te see if I'd read it righ'."

"_Oh, I was a lunatic when I read it_."

"Yeah, bu'…there's jus' one problem wit' tha', Pip."

"_What's that?_"

"Ye're always a lunatic."

"_You're hysterical. Now bring my book back, bitch_." There was a brief pause before a bird-like giggle came through the receiver. "_Alliteration for the win._"

"Dork. I have te work t'day. Ye know, work. Tha' t'ing normal people do when they have lives an' shit te do."

"_Don't make me hurt you_."

"Like ye could. I'll swing by later, alrigh'?"

"_It's a date_."

Murphy released a short, splintering cough. "A date?"

"_Chill out. Rose'll be here_."

"Usin' a four-year-old te chockablock me. How low can ye be?"

"_Very, apparently._"

"I concur. I'll see ye later then."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Connor's snoring drowned out the dead line, but Murphy simply knew when he was lacking her presence. It was like he had ultra-sensitive Pippin senses. Sighing again, he flipped over restlessly.

Damn. He really was obsessed with her.


	11. In Which Connor Whores His Brother Out

I'm back! Whoo hoo! But here's a few more surprises for you wonderful, loyal fans that stuck by me even when I was vegetating in front of my screen; you can thank Dana (Saoirse Driscoll, my lovely beta) for basically writing this chapter for me, and all the photos in the album are updated. As always, you can find them on my profile page.

Also, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to nightchildx. She sent me a particularly sweet, inspiring review that finally got me out of my four and a half month stump, and is part of the reason you are finally reading this chapter today. Thank you, sweetie!

* * *

_You think I'm pretty_

_Without any make-up on_

_You think I'm funny_

_When I tell the punch line wrong_

_I know you get me_

_So I'll let my walls come down, down_

**~Teenage Dream, by Katy Perry~**

She had approximately four hours before Murphy would be getting off work and arriving at her apartment, and she knew that it would've been most prudent of her to capitalize on that time. Especially considering he was the very reason she had been so utterly mental as of late. Besides, she had been meaning to pay a visit to Dr. Beyer some time this month anyway. Might as well have been now.

Pippin moved swiftly across the street, her dark hair exploded around her pale face as she squinted against the strong, sudden gust. Her scarf, vivid salmon pink against the gray afternoon, snapped in the brisk wind and tugged at her neck. It was curiously cold today, prompting the voluptuous brunette to add the peacoat she had stolen from Connor to her ensemble of jeans, black boots, and a close-fitting, white V-neck sweater. She even wore mascara, a bit of eyeliner, and her complexion glowed with a touch of powder. As severely neglected as her sense of fashion was, even she felt it necessary to dress relatively decent when paying a man to listen to her bitch for over two hours. Especially since, in her case, he was doing this for only fifty bucks an hour.

Dr. Beyer's apartment was one of the nicer buildings in the neighborhood, and probably one of the safest. It was one of the few in the area you could walk around without having to rely on the safety of a quick hand and a pocket knife. Punching the button of the buzzer, she huddled in the coat and pulled the lapels close.

"Hi, Dr. Beyer. It's me." She said, bent at her mid-section to speak into the intercom.

"_Oh, there you are, Norah! Come on up." _A pleasant male voice replied, shortly followed by a nasal buzzing. Stepping into the warmth of the building, Pippin shed the coat and scarf immediately, and stomped any debris from her boots. Reaching the fourth floor after a tedious climbing of stairs, Dr. Beyer was already standing in the doorway with a fond smile etched into his features. Not even a full sentence passed through her lips before she was being enveloped in a warm embrace.

"I'm so happy to see you again. It's been some time!" He said, his voice rich and attractive, colored with the slightest of English accents. Pippin grinned widely, feeling her dimples carve themselves into her cheeks.

Jonathan Beyer was by far the best therapist she ever had. She always found him to be an incredibly charming man with a soothing charisma, and a ruggedly handsome appeal reminiscent of John Wayne. Tall and dark-haired, he had impressively broad shoulders and a remarkably well-built figure for a man of forty-seven, but his clean-shaven face and deep laugh lines revealed his age easily enough. His gray eyes were intense, and there was rarely a moment where he wasn't smiling. It most likely explained his frequent trips to the dentist, or the impressive collection of floss he kept stashed away in his medicine cabinet. Oddly enough, she had always found herself most attracted to his hands; they were gentle, and had a comforting warmth constantly radiating from them. Plus, he was one of the few men she had ever met that got manicures and wasn't a total asshole.

"It has, hasn't it? Guess I've been too busy being out of my fucking mind to schedule an appointment. Speaking of which, I'm sorry I did this at last minute. It was sort of a spontaneous thing." Pippin offered a half-hearted shrug, stepping through the door once he stepped aside and allowed her passage. The smell of firewood and vanilla-scented candles mingled in the air as they always did, settling a blanket of relief over the stiff muscles that remained. Just as quick as it faded, however, they hardened the moment she felt an uncomfortably close presence. She turned, stumbling back to see Dr. Beyer had moved up just a scant few inches behind her.

"Sorry." He said through an amused grin. "I forgot you don't like that."

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I don't." She murmured, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. Dr. Beyer chuckled, waving his arm to invite her to sit in one of the squashy, stylish leather armchairs in the area that was designated as the living room. Shutting the door behind him, he took a seat on the couch catty-cornered to the chair she had chosen.

He crossed his legs and smiled invitingly, spurring Pippin's heartbeat to briefly quicken. "But as to you calling at last minute, don't worry. You know I always enjoy your visits. I was actually beginning to wonder if you had dropped from the face of the planet." As he spoke, he took up a notepad and pen from the coffee table in front of him, and settled back into the cushion comfortably. "So let's start with the obligatory question; how have you been?"

"I've actually been doing pretty well. Everything's been fine at home. Holly and Shaun are doing great, Jude and I are still living together and keeping the peace. I've actually gotten a couple gigs since the last time I saw you."

"That's wonderful! Are you still working at the Python?"

She merely nodded in reply before continuing in a quiet voice. "My last doctor visit was about three weeks ago."

"And how did that go?"

Pippin frowned, her full lower lip pouting out slightly. "The same as before. I don't understand why I have to keep going to these things, Dr. Beyer. I think it's pretty obvious I'm not a sociopath."

"I highly doubt you are, but you _do _occasionally display some tendencies often found in sociopaths." He gave her a pointed look. "It's kind of why we're talking right now."

"That was such a long time ago, though. Can't we just get over it now?" She sighed, touching a hand to her temple as her head shook. Dr. Beyer gave her a wan smile, his gray eyes sympathetic.

"Norah, I don't think it'll be very easy to forget that you very publicly beat someone into a coma." His tone was eerily reasonable, but obviously colored with frustration due to the fact this conversation had happened many times before.

"The guy got _out_ of the coma a month later!" Pippin defended immediately.

"Yes, but you still put him in one. And need I remind you that five policemen had to pull you off of him, even after you had crushed your fingers and broke both of your wrists? Or that he suffered so much physical trauma to his face, his own wife couldn't recognize him?"

"He slapped my ass and said how much he wanted to bend me over a table. Right in front of my two-year-old niece."

"So you beat his face in."

"Yes."

"Right, that's completely reasonable." Sighing, he scribbled something down on the notepad. "Speaking of Rose, has she gotten any better?"

"Not really. She still picks fights with the boys at school. Just a couple days ago she came home with a bad scrape on her knee and a small limp. Last month it was a black eye."

"You think this sort of behavior stems from-"

"If you think it's because of me, you are dead wrong. Rose is too smart to start picking fights just because she saw me do it."

"Yes, but you also have to keep in mind that she admires you very much. In fact, you could say she has a sort of hero worship for you. The connection she has with her mother is slightly skewed because of Holly's disability, and her relationship with Shaun is incomplete since he works two jobs."

"Three." Pippin cut in dismally, her eyes now turned to the polished, hardwood floors.

"Three jobs, right. So you and your brother are the closest thing she has to parents besides her actual parents. Being that Jude is obviously male and Rose is not, naturally she would gravitate to you. Plus, you are a very attractive, independent woman, and children are naturally drawn to strong figures such as that."

"Yeah, but…hero worship? I mean, that's a little-"

"Close to home?" Switching his legs as he re-crossed them, he let the pen rest against his lip. Pippin lifted her eyes to his own, and a silent staring contest began to build up tension in the spacious room.

"That's not fair."

"But it is true."

"I admire and respect him. That hardly constitutes hero worship."

"Norah, respecting and admiring your father is perfectly normal, but you've taken it to a whole new level. You've constructed your entire character and an unhealthy amount of your personality from what is left of him. Did you ever stop to think that perhaps that's the reason you say things without thinking? Do things without thinking? Your compulsive nature might not be your own, you know. It could simply be that you are trying to model yourself after what your father became because you so desperately want to please him." He paused, setting his notepad to the side and leaning forward, his hands clasped and arms resting on his knees. "I know that you think he's always favored Holly, but you must understand that he can hardly be considered your father anymore. Besides, I'm sure the only reason Holly isn't in your situation is because she couldn't even hear what went on in that house."

"He's always going to be my dad, Dr. Beyer. Even if he's…not all there." She replied quietly, feeling herself grow small.

"Your father is a Vietnam veteran with severe PTSD and brain damage. You do understand what happens when one receives that amount of damage to their frontal lobe, right?"

"Yeah."

"So you realize that everything he's ever said and done has completely bypassed a filter."

"I get that _now_. But when you're five and having the tar beaten out of you until you're finally unconscious because you accidentally spilt some orange juice on the carpet, you don't exactly recover well. And even when I found out what the fuck was wrong with him, the damage was done. I get that I built myself up to be my dad, but that doesn't mean I can suddenly stop and reconstruct who I am."

"But you can stop seeing your father as some kind of deity, and accept that he was a bad man."

Pippin's eyes flashed dangerously when they snapped back up onto his. "Look, my father was a lot of things, but he wasn't a bad man. He just couldn't control himself, is all."

"Norah, _listen_ to yourself!" Dr. Beyer said, his voice quiet. "You suffered through fifteen years of physical and verbal abuse, personally witnessing the deconstruction of your brother's own mental stability, and lived with the idea that you were no better than yard sale furniture. How can you keep defending him?"

She was silent for an uncomfortably long time, chewing on her lower lip as her eyes bore holes into the ground. Lifting her legs to hug them against her chest, she tried to make herself small and safe. His scrutinizing stare would have nothing of it, however. After several minutes, her voice managed a weak, "Because he's my dad."

Dr. Beyer sighed, passing a hand through his carefully styled dark hair before it came to settle against his mouth and prop his head up. He leaned back in his seat, thin lips pursed. "Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?" His tone was resigned and full of reluctant defeat. Pippin winced, feeling the familiar wave of frustration crash into her.

"Well…I made a few new friends. Met them at Dr. Guyote's office, actually."

"Oh? What are they like?"

She could tell he was attempting to reign in his patience. The only thing she brought out of him even more was probably morbid fascination. Still, the battle between the feelings was still a fierce one, even after two years of friendship and confidence. "They're…interesting. Actually, I think they're the reason I needed to see you today. One in particular has me feeling strangely…"

"Anxious?" He threw in with an arched brow.

"Restless." She countered with an exhausted tone.

"How so?"

"I don't know. Just the way he is, it's…frustrating."

"He?" Dr. Beyer repeated, an inflection of curiosity goading her to elaborate. His brows lifted a trifle, and he leaned forward a bit more. Pippin felt color lift into her cheeks, prompting the doctor to chuckle quietly. "Don't be embarrassed. I can assure you I won't be jealous. Please feel free to say anything you'd like."

That only invited a deeper blush to burn through her collar. She would've been lying if she said she and the good doctor had always kept their relationship strictly professional. After all, two years was an awful long time to spill your heart and soul to a handsome man and not succumb to the wiles of your PMS and last minute hormones that came with your late teen years. Plus, he always had been curiously persistent, a fact that still had her scratching her head in thought. Of course, she wasn't entirely lost; she had put her foot down after three months when progress had been replaced with random bouts of unrestrained sadness and rage.

"I just feel it wouldn't be entirely appropriate given our…um…" She began in a small voice.

"History?" He finished for her, an amused grin on his face.

"Yeah."

"Norah, the entire reason you cut off what went on between us is because you actually wanted to get better. Talking about everything and getting it all off of your chest, even the subject of men, will make you get better. But if it really makes you uncomfortable, I won't bring up the subject again. Now please, tell me about this young man."

"Well, it's not entirely what you think. Not yet, anyway. I mean, I don't really harbor any feelings for him other than lust."

"Does he feel the same?"

"I don't think so. I honestly think what he feels is completely legit."

"Have you two talked about this?" He inquired casually, taking a black cigarette case and matchbox from the coffee table. It popped open with a click, and as he was placing a cigarette on his lips, he leaned forward to offer her one. Taking it, Pippin waited for a lit match to come forward and flare the red tip into life. As she leaned back into the chair, legs crossed properly now, he lit his own and exhaled a perfect smoke ring.

"No." She answered, taking the glass ashtray from the end table beside her and moving it to the armrest.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I wanted to try something different for once. Wait for him to come to me, you know? So far, he's just been sitting around dawdling. I mean, everyone knows how he feels, and every passing day the tension just builds up and builds up and builds up…" To emphasize her point, her hand rolled casually. "But he keeps sitting in the shadows and living with his blue balls. It's very trying. Honestly, if he just grew a pair and fucked me already, we'd probably have smoother sailing."

"Do you think perhaps he knows you have no interest in a real relationship with him?"

"Maybe, but…it's weird. Sometimes I feel like he's the only one I can actually talk to. Like, there are some things I want to tell him that I can't even tell Holly…" Seeing his eyebrows lift even higher in interest, that gave her the confidence to keep going. "And it's other stuff too. For instance, I don't like it when he calls me Pip, or Pippin. It bothers me. I don't mind when his brother or their friend do, though. I don't really mind when anyone does it. I mean, I'd _like_ for people to call me Norah, but I always end up introducing myself as Pippin and then it's stuck for life. But with him…it just…I don't know. It makes me feel weird."

"It's what you know. It's safer. Think of it as…Pippin is who you were and are up until this very point. Your entire life all you've ever known is the identity of Pippin. Yet here is a young man that you see as a possible suitor," ignoring the exasperated eye roll he received for that comment, he continued, "and it troubles you that he calls you by the name of that persona when subconsciously you wish to form a new one. The Norah persona. A fresh, clean slate. It sounds as though you actually do want more than just a sexual relationship with this man, otherwise you wouldn't care who he identifies you as."

"But that would just end messy."

"And why is that?"

She paused, venturing into this carefully. Little wonder she hardly ever used tact; holding back your tongue was an incredibly difficult task to accomplish. "He, his brother, and his friend are in a very…complicated line of work." Her eyes flickered back to his before dropping to the half-spent bud of her cigarette. "I can't say what, but it allows for very little, uh…me time. If we turned this into anything other than casual fucking, it might get more uncomfortable."

"Sooo…you're saying you want to pursue a sexual relationship with this person, and…that's it?"

"Of course. I'm not going to ignore the fact that he's incredibly good-looking, and sex is good for you, anyway."

"Indeed it is." Dr. Beyer agreed in a low voice, nodding along with her and staring down at his knee. He took a long drag before lifting his eyes back to hers. "But you need to approach this carefully and rationally, as sex can make a relationship infinitely more complicated. And perhaps you should take his feelings into consideration before surprising him with you laying in his bed naked covered in chocolate pudding."

Pippin grinned wryly. "I thought you weren't going to bring us up again."

Dr. Beyer grinned back, his eyes mischievous. "Purely unintentional, I assure you."

She shook her head, her smile struggling to stay buoyant in the corners. "Right. Yeah, moving past _that_."

"Does it really bother you that much?"

"Listen, Dr. Beyer…a man as smart as you can surely see what we were doing was wrong." She murmured, the once comfortable atmosphere now suddenly becoming unnervingly tight and restrictive. She felt like a giant in a doll house, and it was rearing up the remnants of claustrophobia she believed to be long dead.

"And why do you think that?" He inquired coolly.

"Well…you're my therapist for starters. Plus, I was nineteen and you were forty-six. I mean…that's wrong, right?"

"Norah, you're in no place to be judging what is wrong and right. That's the exact reason you are here. Now let's move on from this topic before you get upset." He answered swiftly, moving the cigarette to settle between his middle and pointer finger so he could take up the notepad once more.

Pippin frowned, utterly confused. "But you were the one who-"

"What's his name?" He cut in, pen poised over the paper.

She sighed. "Murphy. He's Irish."

Dr. Beyer chuckled. "You always did seem to have a soft spot for the Irish boys."

Pippin shrugged. "I don't know what it is about an Irish or an English accent that makes me want to just get naked and high five myself."

"Don't feel bad. Most women feel the same."

"Anyway, so should I fuck him?"

He made a thoughtful noise low in his throat, brow arched in contemplation. "Speaking as your therapist, I don't think it would be a good idea. But, speaking as your friend and one who's personally witnessed what you can do with your toes," grinning devilishly, he shrugged, "well…why the hell not?

Pippin snorted, rolling her eyes. "Way to keep it professional, Doc."

"I do what I can." He replied lightly, crushing his cigarette in his own ashtray.

* * *

A long, weary sigh passed through Connor's lips as he pulled the second bloodied glove from his hand and tossed it in the trash bin. Murphy stood beside him, arms stretching up until his back bowed in before shedding his soiled coat to hang it up on the hook. Fishing his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, he was popping a stick in his mouth and inhaling a lungful of smoke before his brother could turn to face him.

"So ye comin' wit' me?" Connor asked through a yawn. Murphy shook his head, sighing a cloud of white.

"Nah, supposed te go ove' te-"

"Pip's place. 'Course ye were. Ye gonna fuck 'er?" Connor cut in, casually asking the question and not even bothering to glance up as he did so.

Likewise, Murphy just kept smoking and attempting to crack his back. "Nope."

"'Course ye not." His sibling grumbled, shaking his head as he fished out a cigarette of his own. "Ye balls near te burstin' yet?"

"I beat me dick like it owed me money durin' lunch." Murphy muttered nonchalantly, leaning against the wall. He concealed part of his face with the hand that held his cigarette. His sibling's expression remained largely unchanging.

"Murph, I've decided I'm jus' goin' te bothe' ye 'bout this every fuckin' day. If only te save yer manhood." He paused, lifting a brow and giving him a long stare. "Because I care."

"Riiigh'. Course ye do." Murphy wandered away to collect his peacoat, turning to throw it at a unprepared Connor. He caught it with a quick lift of his arm and flinched away, lowering it so he could juggle a confused stare between his brother and the coat. The dark-haired MacManus didn't seem to be paying attention, as he was pushing his arms through the sleeves of a light, hooded jacket and zipping it up.

"Wha's this fer?"

"S'cold out. Put tha' on."

"Wha' 'bout ye?" Connor asked with gentle concern, tugging the coat on as he followed his twin out the door. Both tossed a wave of farewell to their co-workers before disappearing behind the plastic curtain hanging in the doorframe.

"I'm takin' the car. Ye're the one goin' fer a walk."

"Alrigh'. Suit yerself." Connor murmured with a shrug, lingering on the sidewalk as Murphy moved passed him. Watching him hop in the passenger side of Holly's car, still in their possession after Rocco's car had been officially declared dead and gone, he finished what remained of his cigarette with a few deep drags. Murphy scooted over into the driver's side, rolling the opposite window down and leaning over to peek beneath the frame of the door.

"Wha' time ye need me back?"

"Wheneve'. Next job's not fer anothe' two days. Roc's tryin' te scrape up wha' 'e can."

"Alrigh'. Careful headin' home."

"Same te you."

Murphy began to pull away after a final nod and a half-hearted wave, and as Connor saw him off, his lifted his hands to cup around his mouth and screamed out, "An' would'ja poke 'er already!" The only reply he got back was the silhouette of his brother's middle finger, sticking straight up and framed in the back window. The fair-haired twin snorted, chewing the yellowed filter of his burnt out cigarette. Casting the stub away, he pulled the lapels of his twin's coat around him tightly and started off in the direction of his apartment. His feet were doing all the work, for Connor had retreated into his mind to entertain a variety of random thoughts.

His concern for his brother's testicles was beginning to actually, well, concern him. At this stage, all of this dancing around had move passed sad and was rapidly transitioning into unbelievably frustrating. What could the fuckfist possibly be waiting for? An invitation personally signed by her vagina? Connor frowned as he spied a nearby telephone booth, and it prompted him to dig around in his jeans pocket to fish out a dime. He never trusted that piece of shit cell phone his brother used, so he would stick with payphones until the end of his days. Dropping the coin in the slot, he listened to it ring a few times before a high, sweet voice spoke in his ear.

'_Hello, this is the, um, Evans resi…resi…Aunt Norah, how do you say that word?' _Connor grinned from ear to ear as he picked up a light, whispering murmur, quickly replaced by the unnecessarily loud, _'Oh yeah, Evans resi-dance. This is Rose, um, how can I help you?'_

"Hi, Rosie. Can I talk to yer Aunt Norah, pl'ase?" He chuckled, rubbing the pad of his thumb against his nostril to soothing an itch.

"_Okay." _She chirped happily, her voice slightly more distant as she relayed the phone. _"It's Mr. Connor."_

_"What's up, bitch?" _A new, pleasantly raspy voice cut in. Connor smirked, rolling his eyes.

"It's about Murph." He said simply, lifting an arm to lean casually against the telephone booth.

_"Did he do something stupid again?" _Pippin's voice was deadpan, but a wry grin could easily be detected in her words.

"Aye, an' then some. Look, Pip, I'll cut to they chase. Ye know how he feels 'bout ye. Would ye jus' do me a favor an' help 'im get 'round to it? He's bein' too much o' a pansy ass te actually say anyt'in'."

There was a short pause on the other end of the line. _"What, should I use my feminine wiles or some shit? Dress up in a slutty négligée? Hit him with a riding crop? Are whips optional? Connor, I don't know the first thing about what to do concerning Murph. I've tried coming onto him, and he went PMS on me. I left him alone, and he went PMS on me. Frankly, I don't think he knows what he wants." _Her tone remained sarcastic, but there was a petulant undertone to her voice that Connor couldn't ignore. Clearly, he wasn't the only one who was fed up with his sibling's childish bullshit.

"He knows," he murmured gently, "he jus' don' know what ta do, s'all. S'like he's fuckin' scared or some shit. Jus' take 'im aside, or drag 'im to yer room bound an' gagged. Jus' do somet'in' 'bout it, because it's getting' fuckin' ridiculous."

_"So...you're basically asking me to rape your brother." _She said flatly. He heard a faint click behind her voice, and assumed she was doodling aimlessly on a notepad like she usually did. She always kept one by the phone, just in case she got sucked into a long conversation like this. He snorted softly in amusement.

"Yeah, I s'pose. Wouldn' have put it _quite _like tha', bu' more or less."

_"Hm. I'm strangely comfortable with this idea." _Nonchalant as always, Pippin's tone was becoming more sarcastic. Connor knew that it wasn't meant to affront him; in some ways, he knew her better than his brother did. But then of course, Pippin was an incredibly easy individual to read.

"Seriously. Jus' fuck the man."

"_Shouldn't I at least go on a date with him first?"_

"Pip, ye've basically been datin' 'im fer the last t'ree an' a half weeks. Put it off any longe', his nuts'll go up in smoke."

"_Just trying to keep it classy. But you realize Rose is with me right now, right?"_

"Then do it afte' Holly picks 'er up." He paused to frown slightly. "By the by, where the fuck is Holly?"

"_She's out doing errands." _She replied distractedly.

"With whose car?"

"_Mine."_

"Ye're car's a piece o' shit, Pip."

"_Do you want me to fuck Murphy or not?" _She grumbled. He chuckled softly, letting it fade when he heard a soft knocking in the background. _"Oh hey, that's probably him. I'll talk to you later, okay, Connor?"_

"Alrigh' Pip. You be gentle on 'im, ye hear? He's go' all the tende' sensibilities o' a fuckin' daisy."

"_I thought you said you wanted me to fuck him?"_

"Bye, Pip." He muttered, shaking his head and hanging the phone up on the cradle.

Exhaling a quiet sigh into the chilly April air, Connor adjusted his peacoat and turned on his heel to start off in the opposite direction. He prayed to God that this would finally work, as he was beginning to get as agitated as his twin. But when a perfectly lovely girl with one of the greatest racks possibly ever spawned threw herself at you, how could you possibly say no to that? Connor frowned, no longer aware of where he walked anymore. Honestly, if Murphy backed out of _this_, he would basically be branded as gay for the rest of his born days.

Out of love, of course.


	12. In Which Everyone Gets Sick of this Crap

_She lives in a fairy tale_

_Somewhere too far for us to find_

_Forgotten the taste and smell _

_Of a world that she's left behind_

_It's all about the exposure, the lens I told her _

_The angles were all wrong now _

_She's ripping wings off of butterflies_

**~Brick by Boring Brick, by Paramore~**

"I'm hungry. Ye go' anyt'in' in that black hole ye call a fridge?" Murphy grumbled, turning his gaze from the smiling face of Audrey Hepburn to glance at Pippin, whose shining brown eyes drank in every flicker of movement on screen. He had to blink a few times as he watched her, for fear of his brain tricking him into thinking he was seeing double. With Pippin's recent hair cut, there was scarcely a difference between the gamine starlet and herself. In fact, if she were just a few cup sizes smaller and a few inches taller, one might think the two were perfect duplicates.

It took her a minute to catch what he said, and when she turned her head to gaze over at him, there was a nostalgic haze clearing from her big doe eyes. This seemed to always happen when he was watching an older film with her; it was like he was pulling her from a wonderful, beautiful place that was just for her, and he always felt a stab of guilt for doing it. Like he was intruding. With a hard blink, he quickly averted his gaze.

He just couldn't take much more of this. His lust was turning into smoldering embers in his stomach, and clogged arteries in his heart. Then again, those clogged arteries had probably been there before he had ever even met her, but she made it worse damn it. This slow and subtle death was very quickly turning into Viking brutality. So with his heart fluttering madly and pumping hot blood in his veins, he jumped to his feet and snatched her hand, yanking her off the couch to swoop her into a low dip. Staring deeply into her wide, perplexed eyes, his own burned a hot, electric blue.

"Murphy, this is wrong!" She protested girlishly.

He paused for a villainous smirk before growling, "Frankly, Pip, I don' give a damn."

And then he snogged the ever-living hell out of her.

"Huh? What did you say?" She inquired softly, her voice as thick as the fog in her eyes.

…Or not.

"Ye go' anyt'in' te eat?" He repeated patiently, slightly dazed from his intense daydream. Once upon a time, he had always made fun of the sexual tension in the few romantic comedies he had ever been forced to see, thanks to ex-girlfriends and the scattered occasions fucking _Connor_ needed to be a total faerie. Because he would never go and see any of that shit willingly, of course. His testosterone was made of ironclad manliness, and every sperm in his testicles had fucking capes and Superman spit curls.

He frowned suddenly. Where had he been going with this?

"Oh. Not a lot. We have some cinnamon raisin bread in the bread box, though. It's really good. Dana dropped it off this morning." As she mentioned this, he tried fitting the name to a face. Dana, Dana… Oh, right, the wee lass with the long brown hair that worked at the corner bakery. He remembered her now, mainly because it had startled him and Connor when such coarse language had come out of that seemingly sweet, ruddy face.

"Alrigh' tha'll work. T'anks, Pip." He said, rolling off the couch and leaving her to her reverie. The kitchen was tiny and very narrow, with two long counter tops parallel to each other, ending in a thumbnail of a room that held the washer and dryer. Strangely, the refrigerator was located right at the entrance into it, which only made him wonder if the guy who installed it was either high, or a total prick.

Flipping open the bread box hidden beside the awkward refrigerator, Murphy stared down at the contents and frowned. He needed something to cool himself off, as he was feeling strangely hot and sticky for reasons only slightly unknown. Spying the blender nearby, he pulled it forward and worried his lower lip with his top teeth, debating. A smoothie actually sounded pretty good at the moment, and God knew Holly kept plenty of fruit around for Rose. As though summoned through thought, a flash of blonde caught the corner of his eye as he stared down at the buttons.

"What'cha doin', Mr. Murphy?" Rose's sweet voice reached his ears, making a smile involuntarily play across his lips. Looking down at her little angel face, it only grew wider.

"Care fer a smoothie, Rosie?" He asked, lifting the container to emphasize his point before setting it back down and returning to the fridge. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a box of cut strawberries.

"Aunt Norah says that the blender's been acting funny." Rose murmured in a low voice.

Murphy merely shrugged it off. "Yeah, well yer aunt's a funny blender herself. Can' be all tha' bad." He muttered, poking through the refrigerator to see if he could find anymore goods. He came up short, however, and simply went to the freezer for some ice.

"But, um, it makes this funny noise, and then goes plllfffffft!" She said, making a wide gesture with her chubby little arms and she blew a particularly wet, loud raspberry. Murphy smirked and set the strawberries to the side.

"I t'ink we'll be okay, Rosie."

She merely sighed, pushing a lock of her long, silvery hair behind her round ears. He hadn't noticed before, but they were rather large and stuck out. Somehow the imperfection only made her more perfect, much like her mother's disability; it was almost exhausting how gorgeous the two were. Murphy dumped the strawberries and two handfuls of ice in the blender, distracted by the thoughts that urged his eyes to rest upon the back of Pippin's head.

"Mr. Murphy, I need to talk to you about something." Rose spoke up, watching him slap the lid onto the blender.

"An' wha's tha', darlin'?" He replied, bent over slightly, his finger hovering over the buttons as he squinted at them.

"It's about Aunt Norah." The solemn way she spoke and the low pitch she used had him glancing curiously at her. She sounded so serious, it was almost unnerving. He stood straight, frowning when he turned to face her.

"Wha's wrong, Rose?" She said nothing at first. She seemed to be staring into his soul in an oddly piercing way. Her pale blue eyes did not blink, her angel face set in a harsh mask of marble. The phrase, 'If looks could kill' passed through his mind, making him flinch slightly.

"I know how you feel about her, and while I hate to admit that she needs a man in her life, even _she_ needs to get over this j-j-_juve_nile behavior and get a real boyfriend. I've decided that you are not a big jerk, and r-r-relative-relatively accep-accepta-…you'll work."

Murphy felt his jaw drop. This was six degrees of completely fucked up; no child, particularly a four-year-old whose vocabulary contained less than maybe eight sentences, should ever have the words of an eighty-year-old codger come out of their mouth. His tongue tensed up to speak, but the only thing that managed to part from his lips was hot air and a short, hollow croak.

"F-furthermore," she continued loftily, "if I find out you hurt her in any way, I will personally see to it that you suffer a h-hideous, g-g-grues-…gross death and burn in the bad place for all of forever." She paused, arching a brow. "'Kay?"

"I…I…Yes." He squeaked after swallowing a huge lump in his throat. The color in his face had been entirely drained, leaving him a sickly ashen gray, and his stomach had fallen to settle in his feet. Nausea swept over him, but after he took a moment to breath, he managed to force that down, too.

"I like you, Murphy. You're kind of a moron, but I can tell you're a good man." The words that came from her mouth seemed to be her own now. Terrified as he was, he had to admit that seeing her try to pronounce huge words was faintly amusing in a vastly disturbing way. Yet now that she seemed to have reigned in her tongue, it only became even more creepy.

"…T'ank ye, Rose." He felt like his lungs were going to collapse if he kept up this strained breathing.

"But." She held her words for emphasis, her stare becoming black. "My aunt is my everything, and the only person on this entire planet that understands me. She know what I'm c-cap-able of. You can understand why I'd be very p-p-protec-…why I love her very much."

"…Can I ask…wha' _are_ ye capable of?"

"A lot." She answered flatly.

"Ah." He replied. Really, was there any other response he could offer? Regardless, the conversation was slowly beginning to settle on him, and his tone was gradually slipping into a calm one. Still, his voice noticeably shook, and the color hadn't returned to his face yet.

"Tell anyone I said any of this, and I'll hurt you." She started slowly, as though he were an utter simpleton. Then again, compared to her, he probably was.

"N-no problem." He let a spell of silence hang in the air before he gulped down a painful dose of air.

"Is everything okay in there?" Pippin called from the living room, tilting her head far back until she was peeking over the back of the couch. Rose leaned out of the kitchen, her innocent, pure façade snapping back into place.

"We're okay!" She said sweetly, creeping Murphy out even further.

He stared at her silently for some time, measuring her dead expression carefully when she turned back to hold a level gaze with him. No child should ever have that expression, particularly one who looked like an angel just ten minutes ago.

"…Ye're some kind o' mad genius 'r somet'in' aren' ye?"

"Probably." She said coolly. "Also, don't turn on the blender. It's broken. Like I told you." Whirling on heel to march away, Rose left him in the kitchen with his jaw sagging open.

* * *

By the time Connor had managed an hour of his walk, his feet were starting to smart. The newly formed calluses in his boot were getting pinched, and vaguely he wondered where the hell they came from. It didn't exactly occur to him that it might have been the result of standing on his feet all damn day, shortly followed by running around and sneaking through vents and the like. But then he was kind of an idiot like that.

His pace slowed considerably, yet Connor, being the observant type (well, _more_ observant than some parties that need no mentioning), took that opportunity to survey the familiar area as well. He had wandered quite close to downtown; he could clearly see the faded, wooden sign of _Café Python _jutting out from the wall of brick and clinging to the chains that looked as though they'd snap at any moment.

Or probably the more obvious beacon was the thin, lanky blonde man pacing briskly in front of it, a lit cigarette perched precariously on his lower lip. He was smoking it feverishly, and seemed to be intensely irritated about something. Tension rolled from him in near tangible waves, his cigarette being burned away quickly with deep inhaling. Though Connor couldn't see it from his vantage point, he was quite certain there would be murder flashing in his blue eyes. Approaching him, the light-haired MacManus carefully gauged his expression before treading any further. "Uh, Jude? Ye alrigh', lad?"

He glanced over his shoulder, his shaggy blonde hair hiding all but a single, dangerously narrowed azure eye. "Hey, Conn. What's up, man?" His grumbling was barely audible as he turned away and showed his back once again. The forced calm in his words didn't help.

Connor stood by awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth to keep him busy. "Not a lot. Jus' goin' fer a walk. You, uh, ye okay? Ye look like ye're 'bout te throt'le someone."

Jude sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes. As he leaned against the wall, he casually flicked away the ash from his cigarette and took a drag so deep, Connor was beginning to seriously worry about the condition of his lungs. "It's Norah. She's being a fucking idiot."

The first red flag was raised. He spent enough time with the devious pair to know that Jude only referred to his sister by her real name if he was cross with her, but then he had never once displayed this much irritation involving her either. Connor frowned, sure that there was another element to this story that Jude wasn't delving into.

"Er, ye wanna go in fer a coffee?" He offered meekly. "We can talk if ye care. I'm a fairly good listene'. I mean, I deal wit' Murph's bullshi' on a daily basis, so…"

"Yeah. That sounds pretty good actually. Thanks, man." Jude replied in a low, gritty voice, draining the last of his cigarette and tossing it into the nearby gutter. As he headed inside first, Connor followed behind at a reasonably spaced distance to assure the public they were nothing more than friends. The last thing he needed was meaningful stares and suggestive eyebrow waggling in this place.

Jude moved into a booth near the door, already occupied with a blue mug of stone cold coffee, a colorfully embellished Zippo that looked oddly familiar, and a red scarf wadded up into a ball stuffed in the corner. Pushing back the sleeves of his slate gray sweater to free his hands, he slid into his side of the booth, watching as Connor copied his actions. Jude's untidy mop of hair caught the pale sunlight shining through the window, glittering like threads of spun gold, and his pale eyes glowed in a way that was almost frightening. There were circles of dusty gray forming beneath his eyes, and his narrow shoulders seemed more sharp as he hunched forward. Intensity made the fairer MacManus' skin prickle, and with the imp's sweater forever hanging loose on his wiry frame, he vaguely reminded Connor of homeless drug-addicts he often saw haunting the back alleys. Then again, considering Jude's relatively hedonistic lifestyle, drug use wasn't entirely out of the question.

His curiosity only became more pressing as Lily, clad in the usual uniform and sporting plain black flats rather than her trademark red stilettos, approached with a coffee pot and a grim expression. As she refreshed Jude's mug, she slipped Connor a small, awkward smile before sharing a knowing gaze with the blonde across from him. Panic flared up immediately; when Lily wasn't greeting someone with a random smartass remark, there were only two possible reasons why this would ever occur: Satan had finally given people in Hell ice water, or something was seriously wrong with Pip.

Frowning, Connor began to sweat like a whore in a church. He had only just spoken to her an hour ago, how could she have already gotten herself in trouble? Unless…Murphy had done something. Perhaps she changed her mind? Perhaps he crossed the line? But if that were the case, then Jude would surely be in the process of giving him a sound beating rather than fuming across the table and staring into the fresh coffee that replaced the old. Better yet, Lily would probably be breaking her perfect feet off in his ass.

Before his imagination could run too wild, he finally blurted it out. "Listen, it was my idea alrigh'? I didn' t'ink I'd hurt no one, an' ye gotta admit they needed te ge' down te fuckin' soon 'fore their groins lit their shit on fire, aye?" Rewarded with blank stares, Connor felt his cue to shut the hell up sting his tongue.

"Um…what?" Jude spoke up at last, slowly lifting a pale gold brow. Lily offered the same expression before she disappeared, drawn by the summons of a nearby table. Meanwhile, Connor just sat in his confused embarrassment and found the good grace to flush a healthy dose of scarlet.

"I…t'ought tha'…maybe Murph had…fucked up wit' Pip'r somet'in'." He mumbled, hastily fishing out a cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Uh…noooo. Far as I know, Murphy's kind just a giant, romantic fuck up with legs already."

Connor sighed, lifting his brows and dropping them quickly. "Ye can fuckin' say tha' again."

"I'm pretty sure it's obvious enough that it bears no repeating. Anyway, if you were asking about why I'm upset, you can thank Pip and Pip alone for that."

"Wha'd she do?"

Jude sighed, the bags beneath his eyes cutting deep into his skin. "Just answer me this first…is Murphy really in love with her? Like, honest to God in love?"

Connor paused, taking the time to gather his thoughts and provide a reasonable answer. Naturally, he was unable to do so. "I…guess so. I mean, he's basically obsessed wit' 'er. Fer Murph…" His eyes narrowed as his mouth formed a hard, thoughtful line. "Yeah, I'd say tha's 'bout righ'.

Jude released another breath, his head sagging slightly. It seemed that every second that passed, a few years of his youth would just randomly evaporate. It could have been his lifestyle catching up to him, or perhaps he was genuinely concerned for Murphy's well-being. There was a better chance that it was Pippin he was worried about, though, as it was no secret to Jude that the dark-haired hothead hated him for no real reason.

"That's not good." He murmured after a few seconds, reaching out to extract a cigarette that was peeping out from Connor's breast pocket. Allowing this without a word, he lit the stick as it touched Jude's lips and listened with quiet earnest. "My sister's fucked up, Connor. I know this kinda goes without saying, but she's fucked up to the point of inflicting damage to _other_ people. I think you should talk to your brother before those two get too involved."

"How'd ya mean?"

"Well…" With pursed lips, a stream of pale smoke slipped into the air and floated away until it dispersed. "I think she might seriously hurt his feelings, and not even know she's doing it. Don't get me wrong, they need to fuck already and get this tension shit over with. But…if they're anything more than fuck buddies, we might have a problem."

Connor waited for the punch line, but frowned when no such thing came. "Slowly. In English pl'ase."

Azure eyes stared back at him, slowly churning a sad, gray mist until the irises became bleak and dark. Flicking a clump of ash in the ashtray, turning his gaze to the glittering shower that followed it, he chewed on his lip carefully. Finally, they lifted once more to dig into Connor's own, ripping up emotions and gauging them like only the eyes of an Evans sibling could.

Jude seemed to be the most skilled of them all, for his intensity was entirely different than Pippin's. She had the intensity of a confused child, one so pressing and probing that eventually you had no choice but to give in to her. Jude, on the other hand, was just frightening; he terrified the truth out of you, made you listen for fear he'd disembowel you. Not so surprisingly, a chill shot up his spine when the piercing stare seized his own.

"…You like scary stories, Connor?"

* * *

"Thar's, uh, somet'in' I gotta tell ye, Pip. It's kinda important…" Murphy trailed away as his chest tightened, and his finger began to nervously run along the embroidery of the tablecloth. Swallowing a hard lump in his throat, he sucked in a breath and willed his balls to stop being like that of a toddler's.

Honestly, what in God's name was wrong with him? Just how hard was it to tell a girl you liked her? He felt like he was back in high school; a lanky, awkward mess constantly tripping over his tongue when in the presence of a human female. How his brother managed to land a date every weekend back in those days was a mystery that baffled him even to _this _day. Hell, Connor would've been able to find his way into Pip's pants in less than ten minutes had he switched on that lethal charm upon meeting her. He pondered a new approach to the situation.

"I know what you want to tell me. I also know you can't say it because you're a dumbass and afraid I might reject you," she began casually, her eyes trained on the television screen as he stared dumbfounded.. "I assure you, I'm not going to reject you, Murph. I like you, too. I have since I first met you. I've been waiting a very long time to get into your pants, however, and I find that this entire situation has become extremely stupid and pointless. Were you not as much of a dork as you are, I'd consider this rude. Of course, you _are_ a dork so I'm willing to let this slide." Turning her head to glance at him, she blinked wide, child-like eyes. "Long story short, I think we should fuck like animals on the Discovery Channel after Rose leaves."

Murphy's ears suddenly popped, and all the sound around him became strangely muted. What the hell was wrong with this family? First the episode with Rose, now this. Were they completely clueless of what tact was, so far gone in a void of insanity that they felt no need to use it, or were they simply raised by barnyard animals? "I…I…wha'?"

"Yeah. I was getting tired of waiting. I figured I should've said something now since I'll be starting my period some time next week."

"I…but…"

"I mean, I know I called you over to talk about the book and to just hang out and junk, but really I intended to just hold you down until you finally gave in. Also, your brother called and asked me to. I wasn't actually supposed to tell you that, but I was planning on seducing you anyway so I figured it wouldn't hurt to say so. But don't tell him I said that. I figure we should let him think he helped out in some way. You okay? You look like you just tried to swallow the contents of a lava lamp."

There really was no better way for Pippin to describe Murphy's expression, as he looked near to passing out. It might have had something to do with the amount of blood his poor, broken brain was currently drowning in.

"So? How about it?"

"How 'bout wha'?" He squeaked in a cracked voice, his stormy blue eyes shining with alarm.

"How about finally railing me?" Her tone was as nonchalantly and casual as always. Clearly she had rehearsed this in a mirror or something of the sort. Hell, she probably planned this with Lily or Ellie.

What else could he really say? No? The woman of his dreams was offering herself to him, practically laying on a silver platter and wedging an apple in her mouth no less. If he said no to this, he would have no choice but to officially turn himself over to the gay community. Before he could blurt out his answer, however, Pippin ran out of the vast storage of patience she had been running on for the last three weeks and answered for him.

"Too late. You lose." She managed to say before launching forward, crushing her chest against him and catching his mouth with her own.


End file.
